


Imperfect Soldier (Trying to be a Good Man)

by Shadowobsidian



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Hasn't earned it's rating yet, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, PTSD, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plant-Dad Bucky, Self-Esteem Issues, Size Difference, Small Steve Rogers, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve is THE shit, Switching, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, barista Bucky, but it will, but not really, descriptions of injuries, mentions of hate-crimes, soon, steve is a shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowobsidian/pseuds/Shadowobsidian
Summary: Steve found Jitterz not long after he woke up, and he fell in love with the little coffee shop. It gave him the sense of normalcy he so desperately needed. One morning, that normalcy is threatened.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 35
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw growingpaynes-art post art of a Steve Rogers that got the serum, but it didn't change his physical form; he stayed small, but became strong and so forth, and it sparked this insanity in my brain. I'm pretty much just posting it this way so y'all can keep pushing me to write more of it. So...please do that. Enjoy!

“James? A word, please?”

Steve couldn’t help but perk his ears up a bit at the tense tone in the woman’s voice as she called for the attention of the barista behind the counter of his favorite coffee shop. Even more-so, since ‘James’ was the name of the man who had just finished serving himself and Tony, who had invited himself along on Steve’s early morning coffee run, after his actual run. Steve hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Do you have any idea who that is, James?!”

“Uh, yeah? That’s Steve? He comes in every day and orders a large flat white and whatever daily special we have in the case?”

Steve smiled into his cup and glanced down at the lemon and rosemary scone on the plate by his elbow. It was true that he was a familiar face to the morning staff here at Jitterz, ever since he found it, relatively unscathed in the aftermath of the Chutari invasion, three years ago. It wasn’t long before he fell in love with the laid back atmosphere, the in-house roasted beans, and the absolute disinterest that all of the staff had in taking pictures with him, asking for autographs, or commenting on how ‘he looked bigger on TV’.

He especially loved how they were open 24 hours; he could wake up extra early, get his run in, and still arrive earlier than most people, giving him a decent chunk of time between the all-night-study-groups and bar-hoppers, and the early birds and commuters, to just sit and enjoy his coffee without interruptions; no one in the cafe but him and the sleepy baristas trying to finish out their shift.

This woman, though; she was an anomaly. New hire? Recently promoted manager? Back from vacation? Steve had no idea, but she clearly didn’t understand the unspoken agreement that he had with the other workers here. That made his shoulder blades itch.

“That’s Captain America, James! And Tony Stark! Iron Man!”

Steve winced at the shrillness of her voice as she whisper screamed at James, who still looked confused. He glanced at Tony out of the corner of his eye, and wasn’t at all surprised to see the other man openly staring at the two where they stood at the edge of the counter. He looked impeccable, as always, even this early in the morning; pressed charcoal suit, shined black shoes, sunglasses that were most likely more than they appeared to be, and he projected an effortless air of nonchalance as he lifted his cappuccino to his lips and took a delicate sip. Steve wasn’t fooled for a moment. Tony was cataloging everything, just like he was.

It was an ingrained instinct for both of them now; seeing everything and noting every window, door, and air vent. Sight lines and escape routes and threat assessment of everyone who came too close. And as commanding a presence as both of them had, despite their sizes, there were so may people who came too fucking close. That’s New York in a nutshell, but it was also really damn exhausting.

“Like I said,” James was saying firmly, pulling Steve out of his inner musings. “That’s Steve. Comes in every day. Tony comes in from time to time. They’re cool.”

“Cool?! James, they’re heroes! Heroes in our cafe! Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?!”

“Because of how you’re reacting right now? Seriously, Gina, don’t be weird.”

Steve muffled a chuckle in his coffee.

“Shut up, James, I’m not weird. Oh, my god, I have to get a picture! Stacy is gonna flip!”

Both Steve and Tony froze at her words, ready to bolt and never return. Tony lazily lifted a hand to fiddle with his glasses, probably readying some kind of technology scrambler or EMP pulse or some other science- y shit to make sure that even if she was able to get a photo, it would be completely obliterated in seconds.

“For fuck’s sake, Gina,” James was starting to sound annoyed now. “They’re just people trying to drink their coffee. Put your phone away.”

Gina let out an affronted and offended gasp. “Do not swear at me, Barnes. You’re getting written up for that. At least tell me you didn’t charge them.”

James scoffed, “Didn’t charge two of the most well-off people in the country for their five dollar coffees? Are you serious? If anyone can afford daily coffee runs, it’s those guys.”

And Steve appreciated it every time. He had more money than he knew what to do with, so it was nice to be able to give back without people making it weird or awkward.

He heard Tony start speaking quietly, presumably now on the phone with someone, but Steve kept his attention on the counter, in case they had to run for it, or intervene, or both.

“You are insane,” Gina stated. “Absolutely insane. That is the only explanation for you having the audacity to charge full price to national heroes. I’m so going to tell the owner about this.”

“Yes, you do that,” James snapped, finally raising his voice. “You tell the owner--the guy who gave me a verbal warning after I used my five percent employee discount on my sister when she bought herself a cupcake for her birthday--that I made somebody pay for their coffee. I’m totally sure he’ll agree with your assessment, like he agreed with me about the raise I asked for when my rent shot up, or making me use my sick days for my dad’s surgery. So while you’re sucking his dick, like you did for this promotion, _manager_ , you can tell him that I quit!”

“Aaaand that’s enough of that,” Tony said blandly, pushing to his feet and sauntering to the counter. He crossed his arms and leaned against the stainless steel and smiled his TV smile. “Hi there, Tony Stark, you’ve obviously heard of me. Now I couldn’t help but overhear this little spat and I—shush,” he held up a finger in front of Gina’s face as she opened her mouth to speak, “I overheard this little quarrel and it made me a bit upset that the quaint little coffee joint that me and my best buddy Steve so greatly enjoy was having some manager and ownership issues.

“Breaks my heart, I tell you, so I just wanted to pop over and let you lovely people know; I have just purchased Jitterz from the owner, who was quite agreeable after I named my price, despite the ungodly hour. Perhaps that’s why he agreed so quickly. He sounded slimy though, glad I never have to talk to him again. But as I was saying, I am now owner of this lovely establishment, delighted to meet you, and my first order of business is sadly-not-sadly letting dear Gina here go.

“Now don’t worry,” he cut off anything she was about to say, “I’m not throwing you out with nothing. You will be receiving last month’s pay as well as next month’s, and a shining letter of recommendation for wherever you end up. I just don’t like your attitude and how you were treating Jimmy, here.”

“Bucky.”

Tony rolled his head around to look at James. “Beg pardon?”

“James is my ‘work name’ and no one calls me Jimmy. Ever. But if you’re serious about getting rid of the ass-hat that owned this place, you can call me Bucky.”

Tony stared for a long moment, then shrugged, “Not the strangest name I’ve heard. Once knew a guy named Jester. Seriously. But, back to the point I was making, you weren’t exactly the most civil to...Bucky, and he’s always done right by me and Steve-o over there, so you gotta go. Please collect your belongings and leave your contact info in whatever office space this place has.”

Tony, Steve, and Bucky all watched as Gina gaped like a guppy for a good thirty seconds before she staggered into the back to gather her things.

“JARVIS,” Tony tilted his head to try and peer through the window in the swinging doors to the back, “block her cell signal until she’s left the cafe and the surrounding block. I don’t want her calling ‘Stacy’, or trying to get a parting picture on her way out. Also, assign one of the accounting interns as a temporary manager for Jitterz, just until we can get all the changes in place.”

Steve picked up the tinny ‘Yes, sir’ as it filtered through Tony’s ear piece.

“And speaking of changes,” Tony continued. “Assuming that the switch in ownership has made you reconsider your choice to quit?”

“I mean, sure?”

“Terrific. You, and all the other lovely Jitterz employees will now be making livable wages with quarterly promotions and raises, have full bennies and PTO, as well as vacation, effective immediately, and as many sick days as you need. If you so choose, you can all become official StarkTech employees, with access to the tower and it’s amenities, as well as invites to events and holiday getaways and parties. I’ll leave that to individual preference, just let the new manager know when they show up some time within the next few days.

“I will leave all internal machinations in the hands of you and your fellow employees until either the temp. becomes permanent, or you all suggest somebody for the position. I have absolutely no idea how to run a coffee shop, but I like you, and I like the girl with blue hair, and the other people that obviously work here who I have not seen because their shifts to do not align with my caffeine intake, and I _don’t_ like when the people I like aren’t treated nicely. So...any questions?”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, but ended up just shaking his head in a very confused way.

“Fantastic. Now,” Tony turned on his heel and gave Steve a sloppy salute where he still sat, smirking into his now empty cup, “I’m gonna meander back to the Tower. Gotta talk to Pepper about my newest acquisition, and maybe start playing around with modifying coffee beans to produce more caffeine. See you there later, Cap?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “I have a few more errands to run, but I’ll stop in before I go back home.”

“Because the fully furbished floor in the tower just isn’t good enough for you, is it?” Tony sighed as he headed for the door. “Why do I even bother doing these things?”

“Because you show affection through material possessions and grand gestures of wealth,” Steve shot back blandly.

“Don’t speak to me as if you’re my therapist, I have a therapist for that,” he placed his hand on the door handle and turned back to the counter, “I’ll send a courier to pick up all the relevant paperwork in about an hour. Have it all packed and ready for me, will ya, Buckaroo?”

“You got it, Boss-man.”

“Oh, I really do like you, Bucky. I like you a lot.”

And with that, he was gone.

Steve stayed seated for a long while after Tony had left, watching as Bucky (James. He hadn’t given Steve permission to call him by his nickname, after all) took all of the craziness that just happened in stride. He watched as Bucky called in a replacement for Gina, who slunk out a few minutes after Tony had left. She looked like she wanted to say something, but seeing Steve still seated in the corner made her leave without a word.

After ‘the girl with blue hair’ (her name is Freddie) came in a few hours before her shift was supposed to officially start, taking over for Gina, and being promised overtime by Bucky after he filled her in on all the changes that had taken place in the early morning hours, they both knuckled down and got through the morning work-out and ‘heading to work’ crowds.

Steve was honestly impressed by their speed and people handling skills. There were more than a few people in the crowd who could do with a refresher course in respect, but it wasn’t Steve’s place to butt in, and as much as it chafed to see the snark and blatant rudeness directed at Bucky and Freddie, he loved watching them turn people in circles with hardly any effort; asking them again and again to repeat their order, and slowing them down with offers of ‘extra cream, sir?’, or ‘did you want a drink holder for your large half-soy, no-whip, two-shot, vanilla bean, no-foam latte ma’am?’ without actually causing any lag in the moving order line. It was poetry in motion.

It wasn’t long before the crowd dispersed and there was a lull between the morning workers and morning students. Steve took this chance to make his way up to the counter with his empty cup and plate. Murmuring a quiet ‘good morning’ to Freddie as he handed off his dishes with a smile, he headed over to where Bucky(James) was wiping down and restocking the coffee maker and espresso machine.

He didn’t interrupt the younger man as he worked, merely waited for him to finish what he was doing. And as he waited, he looked. His artist eye was always appreciative of physical attractiveness, and Bucky was indeed attractive; long brown hair tied back in a bun and stuffed under a brown ‘Jitterz” ball-cap, sharp features softened by full lips, a dimpled chin, and a shadow of stubble, steely blue-gray eyes that were always a little muzzy with exhaustion, and an amazingly muscled body often hidden underneath baggy sweatshirts and loose cut jeans.

It only took a few minutes for Bucky to finish up his tidying and look up to find Steve on the other side of the counter. He shot him a tired smile. “Wanna refill?” he asked in his deep, slightly raspy voice.

Steve shrugged and shook his head, “Nah, I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciated you standing up for Tony and me. We don’t have a lot of places where we can just relax outside of the tower. It means a lot that you were willing to put your job on the line for us.”

Bucky laughed softly and started assembling a drink. Steve couldn’t figure out what it was, and Bucky didn’t even look at his hands as he worked. “I mean, it seriously worked out in my favor. I do like this job, despite the shitty former owner, and now I can drop the other two I was working and actually focus on getting my life together. Plus, I work for Tony Stark now! How cool is that?”

“Three jobs?” Steve shook his head again, this time in disbelief. “And people say I’m super-human. How’d you even manage that?”

Bucky grinned sardonically and slid the to-go cup over the top of the espresso machine towards Steve. “A lot of caffeine and a lot of spite.”

Steve tossed back his head and laughed, “That, I understand completely.” He started pulling out his wallet when Bucky waved him off.

“On the house,” he chuckled. “Since I can actually afford to do that now. Just don’t get used to it, okay?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but picked up the cup and took a small sip, humming in pleasure as the silky taste of the flat white hit his tongue. He saluted with the cup and smiled widely, “I won’t. Thank you, James.”

“Call me Bucky.”

Steve’s smile broadened until his cheeks crackled. “Bucky. Thanks.” He wanted to say more, but the door behind him clattered open, and a small knot of middle-aged women noisily made their way to the counter and Bucky turned towards them with a service smile and began taking their overly complicated orders. Raising his cup again, Steve bid both Bucky and Freddie a silent farewell, before he slipped out the door, lest he be recognized and bombarded with requests for pictures and whatnot.

He sipped his drink as he strode through the city, the corners of his lips turning upwards with every mouthful.

It was a good day.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning once again found Steve at the order counter of Jitterz. He’d actually taken the time to go back to his apartment and shower and change out of his workout clothes and into a nice suit before he stopped in; he’d even snagged his shoulder bag full of his sketchbooks and pencils as he slipped out the door, which raised a few questions from Freddie about his lateness and his attire.

“Got a hot date, Stevie?” she asked with a salacious grin, “or are we actually bearing witness to a walk of shame from the Golden Boy himself?”

Steve laughed loud and long. He adored how casual Freddie was when interacting with him. The most reaction his ‘status’ had ever gotten out of her was when he absentmindedly started to pocket the pen she’d given him to sign his receipt once. She just squinted an eye at him, held out her hand and said, “I don’t care who you are; I will drop you like a bag of hammers if you think you’re gonna walk out of here with my purple glitter gel pen. Give.”

Steve didn’t doubt it in the least, and from that moment, he would have taken a bullet for that woman.

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” he said with an answering grin. “I have a press conference thing at the tower in a few hours, and this takes away the chance of Tony trying to dress me in one of his suits.”

“He’s actually tried that?” The question came from Bucky as he brought Steve’s drink over, setting the ceramic mug and saucer down with barely a _clink._ “Why am I neither surprised at all, yet having a hard time picturing it?”

“Tried and succeeded,” Steve nodded. “But only once. Back when I first came out of the ice and had to make a public statement about what happened. I still didn’t really understand my strength at the time, and despite how similar we are in size, Tony is still a bit broader than me in the waist and hips, so his shirts and jackets didn’t sit right. I mean, they looked fine, but the seams rubbed weird and folded in odd angles that just didn’t feel comfortable. Every time I tried to adjust the jacket or straighten the tie, I tore out stitching and ripped the things to shreds. By the end of the interview I looked like I went three rounds with a paper shredder and lost.”

Halfway through the story, Freddie had pulled out her phone and found the conference on Youtube. She was steadily dissolving into giggles, and Bucky was flicking his gaze between Steve and the phone screen, smiling and chuckling quietly.

“Ohmigod,” Freddie wheezed, limp with glee. “Did you just _yank_ the entire sleeve off that jacket?!”

“I barely tugged at it,” Steve defended, feeling his ears burn. “Tony didn’t tell me how much it had cost until after the interview. I felt horrible, and insisted it never happen again. He still keeps trying, promising that the suits are much sturdier, that he designed them himself, but I’m much more aware of my strength, and he never got a handle on my personal style anyways. I really don’t feel like looking like his twin.”

“He does seem like the type to go for couples’ outfits,” Bucky mused.

“And Pepper refuses to indulge him, so he’s focusing on me,” Steve agreed. “But, that’s why I’m wearing the suit. No date, no late night. Sorry, Freddie.”

“This video more than makes up for any kind of disappointment I might have felt. That’s going in my ‘keep forever’ folder for sure.”

“Of course it is,” Steve shook his head with a smile and picked up his drink. He snuck a small sip as he made his way to his table, a groan of pleasure rumbling out of his chest. Caffeine did absolutely nothing for him, but he had no shame in admitting that he’d become something of a coffee snob in this century. His apartment was fitted with a state-of-the-art coffee and espresso machine, and he had cupboards full of beans from around the world, but he refused to give up his morning coffee run. It gave him a sense of normalcy and a structured start to his day. Wake up, eat, run, coffee, shower, and then whatever other bullshitery that came with being an Avenger. His little slice of regular, mundane, same-as-every-other-guy time was more precious to him than gold.

He’d settled at his table and pulled out one of his pads and a pencil and had been scritching away long enough for the dregs of his coffee to go cold before he felt a presence hovering over his shoulder. He turned back to see Bucky peeking at his sketches and holding a plate with the biggest muffin Steve had ever seen covering it.

“Should I be flattered or creeped out?” Bucky asked mildly, nodding at the paper.

Steve glanced at his work and finally noticed what he was doodling: the skyline outside the window, the case of baked goods...and a close-up of Bucky’s gently smiling face. The level of detail was almost embarrassing; the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the wisps of hair escaping his bun and curling at the nape of his neck, and even the tiny trickle of sweat sitting on his temples.

A single second of blind panic surged through Steve’s body, preparing him for the beating that came with ‘making eyes’ at another man. His thin frame locked up, and he snapped the pencil in his hand as he readied himself to curl into a ball to protect his face and chest.

The pain of the wood and graphite biting into his palm jolted him just enough to remember where and _when_ he was. Releasing a slow and controlled breath, he carefully set aside his shattered pencil and crumpled a napkin in his fist with as much nonchalance as he could muster, staunching the blood flow until it stopped.

He shrugged and threw a shy smile at Bucky, willing his heart to stop pounding. “I tend to only draw things I like, so I’d go with flattered?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but there it was.

Bucky gave him the same gentle smile he’d put to paper. “Flattered it is, then.” He stepped around Steve to put the plate and muffin by his empty cup. “This one got the last of the batter,” he explained, “and kind of exploded.”

“So I see,” Steve chuckled. “What’s the flavor today?” He broke off a piece and popped it in his mouth

“Chocolate, peanut butter, caramel. Official name is ‘Triple Sin’.”

“Jesus Christ. This might actually succeed in giving me diabetes. Give my compliments and medical bills to Nathaniel,” he said, naming the over-night baker who created all the amazing things that Steve could now eat without actually dying.

Bucky laughed, “I’ll be sure to do that. Enjoy.” He turned away and started heading back to the counter.

In a sudden burst of ‘what-the-hell-am-I-doing?’, Steve reached out and lightly touched Bucky’s left arm in a bid to regain his attention.

It wasn’t anything more than the slightest pressure to make him pause, but Bucky froze. Deer-in-headlights, statue-still, didn’t even seem to be breathing, frozen stiff froze.

Steve immediately withdrew his hand and started spewing apologies, “Oh, shit, I have no idea why I just did that I am so sorry I hate when people touch me without asking and here I am pawing you like a drunk asshole I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable I just wanted to ask if you’d help me eat this muffin because it’s fucking huge and stuff but I understand if you seriously just want to get away from me now I fully get it and I’m really sorry and it’ll never happen again and--”

Steve was devolving into mere sounds of regret and self-flagellation when Bucky turned his head and shot him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure,” he replied in a voice that sounded nothing like himself. “Let me just grab you a quick refill and I’ll come back to take my break. Okay?”

Steve fell quiet and simply nodded. He watched with regret-filled eyes as Bucky staggered back behind the counter, moving as if he was in pain. He winced as Freddie took in Bucky’s subdued demeanor, then shot him a glare of pure fury. She looked like she was gonna vault the counter and start laying into him with a coffee mug, and Steve would have let her, when Bucky murmured a few words to her. She looked ready to argue, but just heaved a deep sigh and nodded. After giving Steve the universal sign of ‘I’ll be watching you’ very aggressively, she went back to stocking and cleaning, though with a bit more vigor than before.

A few tense minutes later, Bucky slid into the chair opposite Steve and set a flat white in front of him while cradling his own frozen-blended-caramel-vanilla-whipped cream-chocolate sprinkled monstrosity between his wide palms. Steve opened his mouth to start apologizing again, but Bucky held up a hand and looked at him with eyes that were tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

“My arm has some nerve damage from an accident a few years back,” he said bluntly. “I wasn’t expecting you to touch me so I wasn’t prepared for the sensation. Outside of the easily forgivable transgression of touching me without permission, you didn’t do anything wrong because you didn’t know. I really don’t feel like talking about it, or trying to help you wrestle with unnecessary guilt, so just forget about it and let’s eat this muffin. Deal?”

Steve stared at the other man for a long moment, before taking a slow breath; inhale, exhale, and allowed himself to let it go and crack a small smile. “Deal.”

Bucky reached out, with his right hand, Steve noticed, and broke off a bite of muffin. He slid it between his lips with a joking grimace. “This place has been absolute hell on my waistline. I swear I’ve ballooned three sizes since I started working here.”

Steve nodded, “I used to have the exact opposite problem. Still do, I suppose. Ma and I could never afford much, but no matter what I ate, or how often, I never gained weight for more than a month. The serum toned me a bit, and obviously got rid of my fragility, but I still can’t gain anything; muscle or fat or even an inch of height.” He held out his arms and looked down at himself with only a little self deprecation. “Still scrawny, still short, but now I can actually take a punch.”

“Something, something, good things in small packages,” Bucky grinned around his straw as he drained a good fourth of his drink in one breath. When he finally came up for air, he jerked his chin at Steve’s sketchbook, “So what else is in the ‘not creepy’ book of scribbles?”

Long fingers traced over the slightly beat up cover, “Just random stuff. Skylines, still-lifes, that sort of thing. I have a whole page or two full of dogs that I saw at the park.”

“Nice. We don’t deserve dogs.”

Steve raised his mug in agreement and took a slow sip.

“Any other sketches of me?”

Steve promptly choked on his mouthful of coffee, struggling not to cough it across the table and in the wickedly grinning face that resided there. He knew his face was turning an ugly, splotchy red, but he carefully set aside his mug and turned his face to his shoulder to take a few rough breaths. “That was entirely on purpose, and very unkind, Bucky,” he finally rasped out, dabbing his lips with the napkin still wadded in his palm.

Bucky shrugged and smirked as he chewed on his straw in a way that shouldn’t have been distracting, but was. “Knew it wouldn’t kill you. But are there?”

The tips of Steve’s ears were burning, but he nodded. “One or two. From back when I first started coming here, and trying to figure all my shit out. Sketching was something that I knew and found comfort in, and I drew whatever I found interesting. It was the little bit of normalcy I had as I learned how to live in a different century. Got some of Freddie, too, and a small handful of the more memorable customers.”

Bucky stared for a long moment, and Steve forced himself not to squirm. He gave a short nod and snagged another bite of muffin. “I have plants,” he blurted suddenly. “After my...accident,” he quickly explained, “I didn’t feel like I had a real reason to get better, go to physical therapy, all that shit. I just kind of...drifted for a long time. Then a friend of mine gave me a little spider plant.

“Tiny thing; barely a stem with a single leaf. Said ‘If you can’t water it, it’ll die. If you can’t move it to a bigger pot, it’ll die. Don’t let it die, okay?’ It was the stupidest thing to latch onto, but I did. I didn’t want the little fucker to die, so I did my exercises, took my meds, went to my doctor. Then they brought me another one. And another. And I started going out more; had to get them soil and new pots, and I ended up buying the sad looking plants I saw, the ones that were all bruised up and dried out. Now my fire escape looks like the rainforest threw up all over it.” He cleared his throat and refused to look up from his drink. “So, I mean...I get it, I guess? Or something. Whatever.”

Steve smiled a soft smile ever though Bucky wasn’t looking. “Thanks for sharing, Buck. I’d really like to see that. It sounds beautiful.”

The other man rolled his shoulders and looked up through his lashes, “That your way of asking me to take you home, Stevie?”

The blond fumbled his cup slightly, but steadied it before it sloshed. He muscled through the embarrassment and instinctive certainty that the question was a trap, and really looked at the man across from him. He took in the pink stain across stubbled cheeks, the way his fingers twitched minutely around his glass, and how his eyes never left Steve’s face.

He leaned forwards and brought his cup to his lips, “I’d buy you dinner first.”

Bucky grinned in triumph and pulled out a sharpie from his apron and snagged Steve’s sketchbook. Before Steve could say or do anything, Bucky had flipped to an empty page and quickly scrawled out a phone number, slapped the book closed, and slid it back. “I’m free next Thursday after five. Text me your info and we’ll set something up.”

And with that, he grabbed one more mouthful of muffin, picked up his drink, and threw Steve a wink as he made his way back behind the counter, once again the perfect professional barista.

Steve stared at his sketchbook for longer than he’d like to admit, wondering what had actually just happened. Did he just get a date?

With _Bucky_?

_What?!_


	3. Chapter 3

Steve stared at the little brick of technology nestled in his palm. The tiny portal to an infinite wellspring of anything and everything a person could want. His third such portal, actually. His first one hadn’t even lasted a minute as he crumpled it like a playing card when he pressed too hard with his thumb trying to input his password. His second got literally welded to his hip when a stray laser blast from some robot from an evil robot army trying to take over a third world country bounced off his shield at a weird angle. That wasn’t a fun med-floor visit. The phone had still worked, actually, once it had been peeled out of his skin, but he could never get rid of the scent of charred meat from it and--

He was stalling. He knew it, but the screen in his hand remained black and dark, reflecting his conflicted expression back at him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to go out with Bucky. He _did_. Very much so, since he’s finally allowing himself to think about it in any capacity. Ninety percent of his old fears no longer applied in this shiny new day and age, but it would take more than three years to fully dispel a lifetime’s worth of violent teachings. His new body could take a punch, and he could throw one that would crumple a car, but that meant nothing to the trickle of fear that slid down his throat at the merely thought of getting caught even holding another fella’s hand, let alone some of the things that had been making their way into Steve’s dreams during the entirely too long and impossibly short week spanning last Tuesday to this Wednesday. Things he was not going to think about right now, thank you very much, brain.

He hadn’t left Bucky hanging; he wasn’t a complete shmuck. He’d texted him after he’d finished his conference, just a short ‘Hey, this is Steve Rogers.’, with a small smattering of JARVIS approved emojis(He still didn’t fully understand the reasoning of the things, but he’d gained a fair bit of fluency, thanks to Clint’s love of the language). They’d been messaging since then, getting a feel for each other outside of their ‘professional’ relationship. They usually shot short texts back and forth in the middling hours of the night, when Bucky was bored at work and Steve wasn’t able to sleep. Candid pictures of Nathaniel elbow deep in bread dough, or Steve showing off his coffee mug collection. Sometimes they texted right up to the point where Steve pushed through the door and ordered his coffee from Bucky.

It was nice.

But now it was Wednesday, and Bucky was free tomorrow after five, and he still hadn’t figured out what the fuck he was gonna do. Dinner? Drinks? Dancing? Steve had no damn idea. Every outing that he’d participated in in the last three years had been planned by others, and he just had to show up, be it a StarkTech holiday party or a casual dinner that Natasha conned him into with someone she thought ‘would be a good influence and distraction’. He rolled his eyes at the thought, but was grateful that she hadn’t tried that lately. Maybe he should have paid more attention to her methods instead of just the result.

“JARVIS, what should I do for a first date?” he finally asked aloud in desperation.

“What’s this I hear? A date? Did our darling Steven Grant Rogers get a date? All by his widdle self? Is the world ending again?”

Steve collapsed back into the couch with a pained groan at the sound of Tony’s voice. The other man swanned into the common’s room and headed for the kitchen area in ripped up jeans, a stained tank-top, and a look on his face that told Steve that he hadn’t slept for at least three days and had latched onto Steve’s question like a pitbull on a bone.

“While I commend you on actually reaching out for help instead of just attempting to punch the problem into submission,” Tony continued, raising his voice to be heard as he stuffed his head in the commercial-sized fridge and emerging with arms laden with various fruits and vegetables, “why would you ask an A.I. when there’s a perfectly perfect person to ask right here? No offense, J,”

“None taken, sir.”

“Because Pepper is in Europe right now,” Steve shot back blandly, not even raising his head from the back of the couch. He smirked when he heard the overly dramatic gasp from the kitchen area.

“That’s hurtful, Steven. That hurts me, right in the reactor. I can understand it, I mean of course you’d rather talk to the woman who ran my life, and still runs my life in many ways, but would it kill you to lie just a little bit and—”

The rest of his dialogue was lost beneath the scream of the blender as he concocted whatever sludge he decided on for the day. Steve could still hear the undertone of his voice, continuing like nothing was happening, but not even his enhanced hearing could pick up the words.

“—and with that being said, JARVIS: compile a list of discreet diners and clubs that have done right by us in the past and send it to Lover Boy’s phone. So who’s the lucky girl?”

Steve didn’t answer, but started scrolling through the list that popped up on his phone screen, swiping away anything that looked like a coffee shop. “Shit, forgot to ask about allergies,” he muttered to himself, pulling up his chat with Bucky and starting to tap out a message.

“What’s a Bucky?”

Steve didn’t flinch from the deceptively soft female voice right in his ear, but his phone did creak ominously in his grip. He flipped it screen down and closed his eyes as he waited. _Three...two...one…_

“Wait. Bucky? As in coffee Bucky? Knight in sweatshirt armor, ‘tell him I quit’, ‘you got it Boss-man’, Buckaroo Bucky?”

_There it is._

Leveling a look at Natasha as she skirted the edge of the couch from wherever she had popped out from and sat in a place that was toeing the line of ‘a bit too close’ next to him, he squared his shoulders and faced Tony like he was facing a firing squad. “Yes, Tony. That Bucky. What of it?”

“What? Nothing of it,” Tony flipped an absent hand, now buried in his own phone. “I just owe Tina fifty dollars now. That’s all.” his voice started petering off into mumbles.”Wonder if she’ll be okay with it counting as her bonus. Eh, probably not. She was probably getting insider info from Freddie. Cheater.”

“Who’s Tina?” Steve demanded, pushing off the couch as Natasha started trying to finesse his phone from his hand. He strode into the kitchen, mostly to put some distance between himself and the spy, knowing she’d be asking more pointed questions as soon as she got the chance, partially to hide the way his hands were shaking and his shoulders were creeping towards his ears.

This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. He didn’t want this conversation at all, honestly. He wasn’t naive enough to think he’d get to avoid it forever, but he firmly believed in picking one’s own battlefield. But since that option was taken from him, thanks Natasha, he did what he did best; squared the fuck up.

“Hm?” Tony turned his head in the general direction Steve was, but his eyes didn’t leave his phone screen. “Tina’s one of the afternooners at Jitterz. Lovely woman, reminds me of Pep’s aunt Mira. Had to get a bit hands-on with her insurance and stuff because of a medical condition she has. Really interesting stuff, actually, but whatever. One thing led to another, now she’s a dear and beloved friend who gets a direct line to me, and she and I had a bet going for when you and Bucky-boo would finally give in to your mutual pining. Hold on,” his head shot up, phone kept perfectly in eyeline, and he pointed the hand that held his smoothie at Steve’s chest, causing a dollop of mud-colored beverage to jump the rim and splatter on the floor. Neither man paid it any mind “Who asked who out? Please tell me it was Bucky asking. I have another hundred riding on that with Marcus.”

“Who the hell is Marcus? Why are you all betting on me and Bucky?” Steve was seriously ready to start throwing punches, but there was nothing (acceptable) to hit. Story of his life.

“Another afternooner with Tina. Nice guy. Epic mustache. Answer the question, please.” Tony took a huge swallow of his smoothie, gave a full body shudder, then pointed it back at Steve, still not looking up from his phone.

Steve opened his mouth with the full intent to raise his voice, but his phone _plinged_ from it’s place clenched in his palm. Muscle memory had him flipping it over and thumbing the screen on. All at once, the fight drained out of him and a smile tugged at his mouth.

A collage of greens, reds, yellows, and oranges covered his screen, with a full corner taken up by a mop of brown hair and an unfocused pair of steel colored eyes. The caption under the photo of plants and flowers of every size read ‘ _Last night’s rain_ _made them explode. Help.”_

Steve let his hand fall back to his side and pointedly ignored Natasha, who had once again moved to stand almost too close. He instead looked down at the little mop robot that had come out from somewhere to clean up the spilled smoothie. “Bucky asked me,” he said with forced calm. “We’re going out tomorrow night. Thank you for the list, Tony.”

Tony gave a violent fist pump...with the smoothie. Both Steve and Natasha quickly leapt out of the splash-zone as Tony doused himself with mango-carrot-kiwi-avocado-guava-and various proteins. He hardly noticed. “Yes! Marcus owes me three free drinks—that would have been free anyways, I am the owner after all—but yeah! Good for Bucky-boy! And for you! Wow, I feel refreshed. JARVIS, set up a surprise bonus for Jitterz, as a congrats for Bucky and Steve doing the thing, and also clear my schedule for the next few hours, so I can gossip with Tina about this, after a long, _long_ shower and…” he kept talking as he left the room and headed for the elevator.

Steve kept his eyes on the robot, it’s whirs and clicks filling the silence as the red-head picked her way across the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. He could feel her staring at him, but he refused to be the one to break. He’d learned that lesson.

“Bucky- _boy_?” Her tone was quiet and unassuming, but Steve struggled to keep from flinching.

“Yep,” he bit out, mentally cursing the tension in his voice. He turned and headed back towards the couch. Natasha followed.

“Is Bucky his real name?” she seemed to take at least one of his hints, since she sat in a chair across from him instead of next to him again. Now, if only she’d take the others.

“Nope.” he flicked his phone open again, and picked up the message about allergies where he’d left it off.

“Is this why none of the other dates worked out?”

He didn’t respond.

He watched her lean forward out of the corner of his eye. “You know that it’s okay now, right?”

Steve gritted his teeth at her patronizing tone and finally looked up to shoot her a baleful glare. “No, Natasha,” he drawled acidly, “I’ve been living under a rock for the past three years, without anyone trying to spoon feed me all the multitude of advancements and changes that had happened during my long absence. I haven’t been more or less tied down in front of screens for hours on end, being walked through the highlights of history until I was deemed politically correct enough to be released back into society, with refresher courses every other month for the first two years after I woke up.”

Natasha said nothing through his tirade, and her only response was a raised eyebrow and a delicate sip from her water. Steve kept staring for a long minute, before his phone vibrated and he pulled up the message gratefully.

Bucky assured him that he had no allergies that he knew of, and was really looking forward to tomorrow night. Steve couldn’t help but smile as he texted back that he was as well, and pasted in a small chunk of the list JARVIS sent him, asking if any of it looked like something he’d be interested in. After he’d sent the message, he looked up to catch Natasha with a considering look on her face. Steve didn’t like it all.

“Tony said something about Jitterz. That's the coffee shop he bought, right?” she asked in a voice that was far too casual.

Steve pointed at her, his tone serious. “No. Not happening. You will not ask Tony about it, you will not go digging, and you will not ‘pop in to see what all the hype is about’. I don’t want his background checked, his associates interviewed, or his phone hacked for poorly veiled ‘security risk assessment’. Leave it, and him, alone.”

She raised her eyebrow again.

He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. “Please,” he said after a moment, “just...I know what I’m doing, okay? You know full well that I can take care of my own damn self, and I don’t want your interference in this, well-meaning or not. I’m asking you, as a friend, leave it alone. Okay?”

She didn’t say anything, just sipped her water. Steve refused to look away and accept the non-answer. Finally, she gave a small nod, and he relaxed enough to give her a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

She gave another nod, then unfolded herself from the chair and headed for the elevator. Before she stepped through the opening doors, she looked over her shoulder and smiled softly at him. “I hope this goes well for you, Steve.” And then she was gone.

Steve nodded to the empty room as his phone _pinged_ again. “You and me, both,” he muttered as he looked at the screen. Apparently place and time for the first date were now set. Good. Just a million other things to finish getting through before he had to pick up Bucky for their date at _The Avenue_ at six-thirty tomorrow night.

He could totally do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so y'all know, I am not really following any of the cinematic timeline after the first Avenger's movie. Everything is simultaneously happening all at once and not at all, depending on my mood. So...please don't try and correct me about any of it. It is what it is. Also, this the last of the actual 'linear' stuff I have written so far. Everything else is blurbs and pieces of other chapters. I am counting on y'all to pressure me (nicely!), into continuing the story forward towards those blurbs and pieces. Thank you in advance!


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t do this.”

Steve stood amongst the wreckage of his closet, every article of clothing he owns tossed about in panic-fueled chaos, staring down at his phone.

“You can absolutely do this, Steve,” came the calm and soothing voice through his ear piece. The poised and perfect visage of Pepper Potts looks back at him from the screen, smiling gently and attempting to talk him down from what feels suspiciously like an asthma attack, even though that would be impossible. He’d called her about fifteen minutes into his attempt to dress himself acceptably, and ending up knee-deep in undershirts and boxer-briefs. “You should take this as a good sign that you really like this guy and really want things to go well. You never felt like this with any of your other dates, right?”

Steve just shook his head and flicked his eyes between his screen and the absolute mess that he’d made. He’d never cared at all about what he was wearing around those simpering women and their over-powering perfume and comically tall heels. He just wanted to not be around them anymore. The opposite of how he felt about Bucky.

“Exactly,” Pepper continued. “Tony was the same way when we first officially started dating. He actually bought out three different Armani stores in a panic, trying to find something to wear for one of our anniversary dinners.” She smiled at the memory, but quickly returned to the task at hand. “Now, why don’t you try on that lovely dark blue shirt with the silver buttons, a pair of black slacks, and that beautiful gray vest.”

She kept up the idle chatter as Steve set his phone down (facing the wall, because Pepper was a _lady_ ), located the clothes she’d suggested, and started pulling them on; talking about the weather in Italy and how the sun was doing no favors to her pale skin. He would be eternally in her debt for all her help, and he told her so, making her laugh softly in his ear, the sound making him smile and finally start relaxing as he pushed buttons through holes and slid his belt through loops.

“Pepper, you are a miracle worker,” he said as he looked himself over in the mirror, picking up his phone and flipping the camera so she could see it, too. “I owe you so big for this. Just name your price.”

She laughed again. “I just want you to have a good time and be happy, Steve. And I think you should roll your sleeves to your elbows, wear that leather strapped watch that Clint gave you, and possibly do something with your hair.”

Steve laughed along and followed her instructions. He’d be crazy not to at this point.

\--

After he’d hung up his call with Pepper and stumbled through the last of his ablutions, he’d left his place with the intention of calling a cab, only to find a StarkTech employee outside his building with a sleek black town car, offering him the keys. He tried to refuse, but the man had merely pulled out his phone, poked the screen a few times, then turned it towards Steve, revealing a video recording of Tony.

“ _You either take this car, or I’ll have Remmy here track you down and make you drive the Bentley. The red one,”_ he said, tucking a screwdriver behind his ear. _“Consider this an apology for outing you in front of Natasha. That was very uncool of me, as Clint would say. The weirdo. I’m always cool. That’s my thing, on top of being brilliant, handsome, and rich. Where was I? Oh! I’ve put all the Jitterz info on a separate server with a really hard password, because we both know how she gets, no matter what she’s promised. You're welcome. Anyways, your reservation is under the name Grant Rogers, and I’ve taken the liberty of setting your meal up as a menu tasting. Have fun, use protection, and I hope you told Pepper I said hi when you called her about your clothes. Cheers, Cap.”_

Steve grinned around his exasperated sigh as the video ended, ignored the comment about 'protection', took the keys from Remmy with a quiet ‘Thank you’, and carefully pulled the car out into traffic.

Six fifteen found him outside of an apartment building just a few blocks down and two streets over from Jitterz, double and triple checking the address that Bucky had given him. The building had seen better days, but the bricks looked clean, and the neighborhood seemed peaceful. Steve liked it.

And now that he was here, his palms were sweaty, his pits were sweaty, and he really wanted to go back home and crawl under his bed. Instead of doing that, he strode up to the buzzer panel, and jabbed the button for 409. The silence that followed was some of the most tense moments that Steve had ever endured, and he’d been curled up in foxholes for days on end in the Parisian countryside while Nazis slunk in the tall grass all around him, so...yep. Really tense. So damn tense. Way too fucking ten--

“Yeah?” The voice crackling out the speaker was distorted and muffled, but it was definitely Bucky.

Steve lurched forward and slammed the button again, wincing when he heard something crack under his finger. “Yes!” his voice warbled in a way that it hadn’t since he was fourteen, and he cleared his throat harshly. “Hi,” he tried again, so glad that Bucky couldn’t see the myriad of self-loathing expressions he could feel contorting his face. “Hey, it’s Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers. It’s me. Here to get you. For our date. At six thirty. I’m a bit early. Am I too early? Sorry. If I’m too early. Please take your time. In. Whatever you were doing. Before I got here. Too early. Too early?”

Bucky’s laughter didn’t do a lot to quell Steve’s nerves, but it did something.

“I’m just about ready,” he assured. “I’ll be right down.”

“Right. Yes. I’ll be here. Waiting. And. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” the smile was very evident in Bucky’s voice, and Steve could feel his own lips curling up in response as the speaker fell silent once again.

Steve stepped back towards the curb, shoving his hands into his pockets, lest he do any more damage to Bucky’s building. He bounced on the balls of his feet and puffed his cheeks as he kept glancing up and down the street, watching the cars go by and trying to not look as weird as his paranoid brain was telling him he looked.

He knew that he could easily straighten his spine, pull back his shoulders, fall into parade rest, look at the world like he was looking through his cowl; commanding, confident, unafraid. But he was so tired of always being Captain America. Smiling and waving and kissing babies; nothing phasing him, nothing touching him, nothing moving him. For a little while, he just wanted to be slouchy, twitchy, nervous-but-going-for-it Steve Rogers, no matter how jumpy it made him.

He hated that he was waiting for it, but he was truly expecting a small knot of warehouse workers to turn a corner out of an alley and start making comments that he just couldn’t let slide, be them about himself or a random person on the street.

He felt his shoulders and chest clenching tighter and tighter as he fell back into the memory of being trapped in a circle of flying fists and lashing feet, attempting to give as good as he got, but always ending up in a crumpled, bloody mess that he had to drag home to Ma. He wondered what she would think about what he was doing, who he had become. He liked to think that she’d love him just the same, and be proud of his work and choices.

The rattle of an opening door, pulled Steve from his musings, and he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the town car. He started to raise his hand to get Bucky’s attention, but the motion froze somewhere around his chest as he got a good look a the other man.

His hair was down.

That was the first thing Steve noticed. The closest he ever came to seeing it down was the partial selfies Bucky had sent to Steve for the past week; bits and pieces if himself in borders and corners as he tried to showcase something else. Steve hadn't realized it was that long; brushing just past his shoulders in soft, clean waves, with the strands at his temples pulled back in a small tail to keep them out of his face. The second thing he noticed was how his clothes were much more...fitted, than what he wore to work.

The maroon Henley clung to the curves of muscles rippling down Bucky’s front, and his sport coat did absolutely nothing to cloak the broadness of his shoulders or thickness of his biceps. Black denim jeans hugged thighs as wide around as Steve’s waist, and the smaller man swore he could hear the seams creak with every step Bucky took, sunlight gleaming off the toes of only slightly scuffed black boots.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He was in so much trouble.

Those thoughts and dreams from earlier, the ones that made him wake up hard and feeling queasy in the pit of his stomach? The ones that made his hands shake around his coffee cup when he saw Bucky laughing with Freddie or smiling his way? The ones that he knew weren’t wrong in any way, but still made him brace for a fist to the face?

Yeah, those thoughts were back. With a vengeance. And a plan, apparently. A curse of the serum, Steve could only stare dumbly as Bucky strode towards him, a smile tugging his perfect lips, while his brain constructed the perfect step-by-step plan to divest Bucky of his clothing and back up the stairs behind him.

Steve saw himself marching up to the other man with nary a greeting, wrapping his arms around those sinful thighs and lifting Bucky into his arms without breaking stride. Wrapping long, long legs around his waist and taking steps two and three at a time until he could press the brunette against the front door of his apartment and start attacking his throat with lips and tongue. Tumbling into the apartment, the bedroom, onto the bed, stripped of everything but sweat and spit; hands groping, squeezing, holding, bodies sliding, slipping, grinding; cocks throbbing, pulsing, cumming--!

“Steve?”

Steve didn’t jump, but it was a near thing, and he could feel that despised, splotchy blush rushing across his cheeks and down his chest. The mental play-through hadn't lasted long, just enough for Bucky to reach him and attempt to get his attention, but he felt like he'd spent the night breaking in the bed-sheets with Bucky. An eternity. Longer.

He swallowed thickly and threw a smile that was only slightly forced in the general direction of the other man, not able to look at him just yet. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Got a little lost in thought.”

“Everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” Steve assured, breathing a little easier and smiling a little more freely. “It’s just...you look really good, Buck. I like that color on you.”

Bucky’s blush was a thing of beauty, and Steve absently wished he was more talented with colored mediums, because graphite and charcoal wouldn’t be nearly enough to capture the glory, though that won’t stop him from trying his damnedest.

“You look good, too, Stevie,” Bucky’s eyes trailed up and down his slight frame, making him want to squirm and preen at the same time. “I like the vest. The silver really brings out your eyes.” He plucked at his jacket, glaring down at himself, “Sorry about the jeans. I know the place we’re headin’ is fancy dress, but this is the best I’ve got. Think they’ll let me in?”

Steve laughed, finally feeling relaxed for the first time as he turned and opened the passenger door for the other man. “I’d like to see them try to keep you out. I am Captain America, after all.”

Bucky gave a playful grimace as he slid past Steve and into the seat, “I really hope you’re not, tonight. He seems a bit stuffy for a dinner date. Besides, I gave my number to Steve Rogers, not the Captain.”

The truth of those words flooded Steve with a golden warmth, dulling the teeth that were forever gnawing on the back of his mind. He felt his fears lessen, and a genuine smile curl his mouth. Pushing the door shut, he skirted the hood and folded himself behind the wheel. He reached for his seat-belt, then stopped.

“Oh! Before I forget,” he twisted around and plucked something from the backseat. “Now I don’t want you to think I was seeing you as a dame or something like that, since this type of thing is usually for them; at least it used to be, but I’ve always wanted to do it, and you're tellin’ me about your plants all the time, and you sent that picture the other day, and I saw it while driving over and thought of you and I couldn’t help but--”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted with a laugh. “Relax. What is it?”

Steve gulped in a huge breath, straightened back up, and plopped a little glass pot into Bucky’s palm. “I know it ain’t roses,” he quickly explained, his accent thickening with nerves, “an’ I wouldn’t have got you roses anyways, since you ain’t a dame to be buttered up, but a guy was sellin’ these tiny trees on one of the street corners, an' I spotted ‘em while at a red light an' your face immediately popped inta my head an' the next thing I knew, I had one, an' then I was here, and--”

“Steve,” Bucky cut him off again (that really can’t become a habit). “I love it. Thank you.” He brought the little pot to eye level and stroked a gentle finger over the tiny branches. “I’ve never cared for a bonsai before. Can’t wait to learn.” The smile he turned in Steve’s direction was vulnerable in a way that melted Steve’s heart. “Really. Thank you. I’m really happy.”

Steve couldn't resist smiling back. Didn't even try. “So am I,” he confessed, voice barely a whisper.

The moment stretched between them like warm taffy, folding over and over on itself, filling the space with a glittering tension that seemed to breathe on its own. Then a car sped past, blaring something with far too heavy a bass beat, and the moment popped.

Not like a balloon: sharp and loud and anxious, but like a bubble: softly and sweetly, with a light shower of promises to be fulfilled later.

Steve kept smiling as he clicked his seat belt on and started the car, waiting until Bucky had fastened his own before putting it in gear.

“Wait,” Bucky sat up a little straighter and furrowed his brows in confusion, “when did you learn to drive?”

Steve couldn’t resist. He shot Bucky the most wicked and manic grin he was capable of. “Nazi Germany,” he said, whipping the car into the street and cackling over Bucky’s squeals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there, okay? It's really hot where I am, and it makes me super lazy. Next up, the actual date!


	5. Chapter 5

They arrived at the restaurant without incident, Steve cleaning up his driving after Bucky had punched him in the arm a few times, cussing him out between alarmed squeaks and honest laughter. The remainder of the drive passed easily as they talked about their days, and Bucky reading out random bits of bonsai trivia from his phone.

Ignoring the double-take the valet driver had given him, Steve gallantly held both the car and restaurant door open for his date, making the other man smile and fiddle with his hair. They skirted the edge of the lobby, mutually agreeing to avoid the knots of people that lingered there, just in case he was recognized and the people were class-less enough to try and get a picture or something. It’d happened before.

They were seated quickly, the hostess polite and professional as she led them to a sheltered corner booth with clear sight lines and dim enough that pictures would be difficult to take, and got them set up with waters and wine while their personal chef for the evening (“Personal chef?” Bucky mouthed in shock. Steve just shrugged.) walked them through their tasting menu, double checking about allergies, and assuring them that the first dishes would be out shortly.

The silence that follows is only a little bit uncomfortable as Bucky shifts in his seat and tugs at his lapels.

“Hey,” Steve leans forward and catches his eye, “you look great. Honest. Best looking guy in the room.” And it wasn’t really an exaggeration; the other tables were mostly filled with greasy looking corporate types, or jowly politicians with companions that looked far too young to be present. Steve decided to have a talk with Tony about this place’s ‘famed discretion’. But that was for a later time.

“Places like this have never really been my scene,” Bucky was saying, and Steve pulled his attention back. “Could never afford them, for one thing, and I always felt that everyone, even the staff, was looking down their nose at me. Like they knew I didn’t belong.”

Steve nodded, “I get that. Took me a long time to stop seeing a confrontation in every patronizing look or throw-away comment. Things like this might as well have been on the moon when I was younger, and then I was thrown off the deep end when I woke up. Champagne and caviar practically every night--,”

“Such a hardship,” Bucky drawled with a raised eyebrow.

“When all you knew was boiled cabbage and MREs, yeah, it kinda was,” Steve continued. “All the expectation for you to know everything and everyone right away; the proper fork for the proper dish, the correct title for the correct person...without the enhanced memory the serum gave me, I’d’ve probably started a couple wars the first year and a half out of the ice. I hated it. Still do, honestly. I wasn’t created for ballrooms and champagne brunches.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the waiters had returned with the appetizer tasting. A platter of single serving plates was set in the middle of the table atop a small Lazy Susan so it could be spun, allowing both diners to reach all the plates.

“We have duck spring rolls,” the waiter began explaining, pointing to each dish, “tempura calamari, salmon Thai, tuna tartar, crab cakes, and Thai chicken lettuce wraps, as well as a small sampling of our cheese boards; Agour, Tomme de Savoie, and Brie Triple Cream. Enjoy.”

Steve smiled his thanks as the server left them to it, then turned to Bucky, “Did you get any of that?”

Bucky chuckled and shook his head, “Maybe one word out of three. But it all looks amazing.”

Steve had to agree; their chef was obviously very good at his job. Everything was plated with such care and precision that Steve was reluctant to touch any of it. Bucky had no such qualms, though. He plucked up a spring roll and took a large bite.

His eyes fluttered closed and his head lolled back. “ _Hooomigod_ ,” he garbled around his mouthful, “Steve. Try this. It’s--I can’t—Just—Here.” He stretched out the remaining bite of the roll towards Steve. After only a second of hesitation, Steve reached out and plucked the roll from Bucky’s hand, fingers brushing in a brief moment of contact.

Ignoring the heat singeing the tips of his ears, he pulled back and popped the bite in his mouth. An explosion of flavor had him forgetting his moment of embarrassment. The bite of the marinated duck merged with the coolness of the greens and the slight crunch of carrot. It was--

“Amazing,” he admitted, chewing slowly. Bucky did something with his eyebrows, conveying “I know, right?” before filling his plate with a bite of everything on the platter.

For several minutes, there’s no talking, just the sound of chewing and the random vocalization of ‘Holy crap this is really good’, or ‘Dude, try this, it’s stupid delicious’, and it doesn’t take long for the platter to be empty of everything but dishes and crumbs. Both of them settle back as the platter is taken away with the promise that the next course is almost ready.

“Next course?” Bucky groaned, settling a hand over his stomach. “I don’t know how much more I can eat.”

Steve laughed, “Don’t worry, I’ll finish everything that you can’t. It takes a lot of calories to maintain this godly physique.” He playfully flexed into a few poses, pursing his lips and wiggling his eyebrows, and making Bucky clutch his middle and cackle.

“Oh, God, stop it,” he wheezed. “There’s no room! Gonna barf!”

“And waste Stark’s pocket change?” Steve gasped, mock affronted. “Ungrateful whelp!”

Bucky just laughed louder, flicking a limp hand between the two of them. “Pot and kettle,” he huffed before doubling over again.

“I resemble that remark,” Steve responded absently, getting a little lost in Bucky’s glee. He really is incredibly attractive, he thought to himself. Laughter looked amazing on him, making his nose crinkle and his eyes squint into glittering slits of mirth. He looked so much younger when he laughed, and it hurt Steve’s heart a little to see all the time Bucky had lived in his limited years, so present in it’s sudden absence.

Bucky’s laughter was winding down by the time the next platter was placed on the table.

“Our entrees are,” the server began once again pointing at plates, “eggplant lasagna, seared elk tenderloin, Scottish salmon, apple and sausage ravioli, Springer mountain chicken, and classic New York strip steak. Enjoy.”

Steve nodded his thanks, then stifled another chuckle as he watched Bucky gaze at the spread with both longing and slight nausea. “You know that you don’t have to try everything, right?” he pointed out as Bucky lifted food from each little plate to his own, larger one.

“I absolutely do,” Bucky countered. “This is most likely the only time I’m gonna be able to come here, and I want to make it memorable.”

“If you end up throwing up everything you ate in the parking lot, it’ll certainly be that,” Steve nodded, filling his own plate. He cut a bite of the elk tenderloin and almost moaned when it hit his tongue. The meat seemed to dissolve as he chewed, and there was a delicious seasoned rub on it full of flavors that complimented the gamey-ness of the meat itself.

“Keep making faces like that, and a guy’s gonna start getting ideas,” Bucky’s comment was flirty with no actual intent behind it, but it still made Steve’s fingers twitch in a way that he didn’t like.

He honestly hated that he had such ingrained responses to something that he knew was never really wrong in the first place. He never had any problems with Mr. Fredlin and his ‘roommate’ back in the day, and he’s even been something of a regular at one or two of the bars down the road from his tenement. But his size and build had always made him an easy target, and he refused to back down from anything, but he also knew that if he was found beaten, or god forbid dead even remotely close to those places, and with those people, it would be his mother who suffered the most. And he couldn’t have done that to her any more than he could have stopped the way his eyes sometimes wandered across the sweaty planes of the bare chests of the dock workers as they made their way home for the day.

His mind briefly flitted to a thought about the secret sketchbook he kept behind the headboard of his bed. Pages filled with torsos, muscled thighs, and sometimes a bit more; a forbidden pleasure that he created for himself. Hand-made blue bible. It was most likely locked away in some rich ponce’s private collection, probably thinking it was just one of his art class books. If only they knew, huh?

“Everything alright over there, Steve?”

The blond forcibly derailed his train of thought and smiled at Bucky. “Yeah, sorry about that. Something made me think of something made me think of something else. How’s the lasagna?”

“Better than sex,” the other man said so earnestly that Steve couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him.

The rest of the course passed with an ease that Steve hadn’t felt in a very long time. Not since his days squatting around the campfire with the Howlies, actually. Back in a time when he wasn’t an icon, wasn’t more monument than man, when he was just another soldier trying to make it to sunrise. The knowledge that Bucky didn’t want any part of Captain America at this table, only Steve Rogers, filled the smaller man with a warmth like champagne; heady and bubbly and golden in the light.

The passing of the dessert course (several flavors of crème brulee and small slices of decadent fruit pastries), and into after dinner coffee had even Steve sprawling back in his seat, stomach pressing against his belt.

“That was amazing,” Bucky mumbled, so full and sated that he almost toppled over to lay across the booth seat. “I’m gonna be digesting for a week.”

Steve smiled and nodded. “I might actually be able to go the whole night without waking up and demolishing a jar of peanut butter for once.”

“Huh?”

“Well,” Steve shrugged, “most of the time, when I’m texting you in the middle of the night, it’s because my metabolism has made itself known through very painful hunger pangs. I never feel like cooking at ass’o’clock in the morning, so I have a whole cupboard filled with high protein peanut butter that I dig into. Usually a full jar’ll last me to breakfast and coffee.”

Bucky blinked. Blinked again. “That,” he said at last, “sucks so much ass. Stevie, how are you even able to function?”

The question seemed earnest, so Steve answered honestly, “Bruce—Bruce Banner, that is—and Tony have worked really hard to develop stuff that is ridiculously stuffed with carbs, protein, and calories without sacrificing too much flavor. Bars, smoothie mixes, cooking ingredients like flours and flavor packets, even pills for long missions.

“Bruce accidentally created, like, a super potato while trying to keep me from starving at the buffet, so to speak. It carries more nutritional value, grows hardier, and can survive droughts and floods and stuff. I think he’s actually giving away seedlings to third world countries and places plagued by famine,” he grinned slightly. “And they make awesome scallops. But I can burn through a normal meal in about two hours, less if I’m exerting myself. It takes a lot for me to feel full, and stay full for any length of time. And I still can’t gain even half a pound,” he laughed, a little self-deprecatingly. “On bad days it feels like one of those poetic, Roman mythology punishments; going from being hungry because I didn’t have enough, to having plenty and still starving.”

“Sounds like bad days are pretty common,” Bucky’s voice was soft, but not pitying, and Steve appreciated that so much.

“Not as much as they used to be,” Steve assured. “There were times, when I had recently come out of the ice, where I had to take one of those massive jugs of protein powder, fill it with just enough water, shake it up, then eat it with a spoon, like nasty artificially flavored chocolate oatmeal.”

Bucky shuddered and fake gagged, “Okay, no more talking about the grossest shit I’ve ever heard after I just ate the best meal I’ve ever had, my mom’s pot roast notwithstanding.”

The pang of painful wistfulness hit Steve so hard he almost got dizzy. “Nothing will ever beat a mother’s home cooking,” he agreed, voice so, so soft as he looked down at his empty plate. God, he missed her so fucking much.

He saw Bucky wince out of the corner of his eye, but the other man didn’t say anything more, but merely reached out a hand to lay it gently over his own where it twitched next to his silverware.

That delicate taffy feeling was back, folding the empathy and support into something sweeter and richer, the bubble refusing to pop even when the server came to collect their plates, making Bucky pull his hand back; it just grew and stretched to fill the space as they thanked their waiters and chef and made their way to the valet pickup. They stood next to each other under the awning, close, but not too close. The night was warm, and as quiet as it ever got in a city that never slept.

Steve warred with himself in silence. A part of himself (a fairly large part, if he was going completely honest) wanted very badly to reach out and hold Bucky’s hand again, to feel the warmth of skin on skin in the most innocent way. Another part of himself (Not as large a part, but painfully loud) wasn’t letting go of the ( _ **outdated!**_ )fact that they were in _public_ , with other _people_ around, that could _see_ them, and _judge_ them, and quite possibly _hurt_ them. The struggle made him feel nauseous and shaky in a way that he hadn’t since he had diabetes, but he swallowed, took a deep breath, reached out--

And heard something that made his gut clench in an entirely different way:

The echo of a hand striking flesh.

A whimper of pain.

A hiss of an angry voice.

Stumbling footsteps.

Immediately he was moving, strides long and determined, with a sharp, “Stay here.” to Bucky. It didn’t take him long to round the side of the building and zero in on the mass of moving shadows just out of reach of the light above the kitchen door.

The whimpering and threats hadn’t ceased, and as Steve marched closer, drawing himself up and into a stance prepared and eager for combat, he started to pick up some of the words.

“—op crying, you idiot! Did you really think that this was gonna be a free meal, huh? Do you not realize just how much money I’ve spent on you tonight? A blow job is the least I deserve, for everything I’ve done.”

“Please...you’re hurting me! Let me go!”

A fist raised again, and Steve wrapped his own fingers around the wrist, almost gently. His nose wrinkled at the heavy stench of booze rolling off the guy, and easily slid his body into the slight space between him and the girl. The place between bully and bullied. A place he’d been sliding into his entire life, then and now.

“ I don't think you want to do that,” he said in a voice that he had perfected on every and all new recruits that came and went as temporary members of the Howlies; a voice that destroyed any illusion of superiority that the young bucks might have had after seeing him for the first time. The voice of a fighter. A soldier. A Captain.

Unfortunately, the man was a sheet too far to the wind to fully understand what was happening. All he knew was somebody that only came up to his chin was attempting to get between him and his entitled orgasm of the night.

Steve was more than okay with him thinking this.

Keeping his grip in the man’s wrist as he started to spew even more vulgarities and obscenities, Steve glanced back the way he came and saw a familiar silhouette. So much for staying put, he thought with a grin. Then he turned to the woman behind him, his eyebrows crinkling in sympathy and anger as he took in the bright red mark on her cheek and the smudges of make-up under her teary and frightened eyes.

“This guy isn’t going to touch you again,” he assured, leaning close so she could hear him over the garbage the drunkard was retching up. “My friend is right over there, at the corner of the building,” he nodded in Bucky’s direction. “If you head on over and tell him what happened, he’ll stay with you while you call for a ride or something. You’re gonna be okay.”

Her eyes remained glassy for most of his words, not really hearing anything, but flinching whenever drunk-fucker’s voice raised above a garbled mumble. But slowly, she was able to focus on Steve, and he could see the recognition sharpening her face.

“You’re—”

Steve nodded once, cutting her off, “Yes, ma’am. That’s me. I’ve got this handled, and you can head on over to my friend over there. He’ll look after you. His name is James, okay?” He waited until she was able to nod and shakily start making her way to Bucky, wobbling in heels that were far too tall for so young a face.

Then he turned back to the man he’d been almost absently fending off as he flailed and struck out with drunken outrage. He let his face slip into an expression that someone both incredibly stupid and incredibly unaware would maybe call genial. Drunk-fucker wasn’t stupid, and was becoming more aware by the second. “Now, let’s talk.”

–

Bucky was doing his best to keep the girl (Patty, she said her name was) calm as he walked her through the motions of unlocking her phone and calling up her roommate to come and get her. He kept his voice low and soothing as her hands shook and fresh tears started tracking down her face. She was going into shock, but she’d flinched badly when Bucky got too close, so he had to do what he could from a distance.

Her breathing was finally leveling out after he started asking her about the picture she had as her phone background(“That’s my pittie Hallie, short for Hallelujah. She’s three years old and the most precious thing in my life I love her so much I’m gonna hug her so hard when I get home!”) when an unmarked cop car pulled into the parking lot. He pointed it out to her(“You can tell by the light-strip at the top of the windshield and the hubcaps.”) and herded her further away from where a plains-clothes officer was heading around the corner.

The man they led back into view was in handcuffs and doing his best to look small and nonthreatening, mumbling assurances that he’d never do it again. His steps wobbled and weaved, but he made no struggle against the hold of the officer, and meekly got into the back of the car. Bucky only witnessed this in his periphery, as almost all his attention was captured by the man stepping out behind the other two, standing straight and proud and immovable as stone. Not Steve Rogers.

Captain America.

The difference was as extreme as night and day. Well, perhaps dusk and dawn. A little of each always bled into the other, as they weren’t actually different people, but the contrasts were painfully apparent to one who knew.

And Bucky knew Steve Rogers. He knew how he took his coffee and the sound of his honest laughter, the kind that made him snort. He knew the depth of his sarcasm (bottomless), and the curve of his smile. He knew the things that kept him up at night and how he’d always wanted a dog. He knew a fair bit about Steve Rogers, thank you very much.

He knew next to nothing about Captain America.

Sure, there’s what was available in every history book, biographies released over and over through the years, online speculation, and blatant conspiracy theories. They couldn’t all be bullshit, but Bucky had no desire to go wading through all the potential bullshit to find the truths. The only thing he felt like he really had to know was the Captain America was a part of Steve’s life that he had to accept. That is was Steve there under the persona and shield.

That didn’t stop the feeling of being next to a stranger when the Captain came over to see how Patty was doing.

He could pick out little bits of Steve here and there as Patty fawned over the Captain, thanking him over and over, blowing her nose in the handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket, and batting her teary eyes at him. He could see Steve, but it was like he was looking at him underwater: slightly out of focus and a bit distorted. Nothing about his appearance had changed, but he felt bigger, his presence and authority undeniable and encompassing.

They both stayed with Patty after Captain America shook hands with the officer he’d called and the car pulled away. More and more of Steve was bleeding through as they talked to pass the time until her roommate showed up, comparing dog breeds and bemoaning the rapidly changing ecosystems of the New York streets in the same breath. Patty was apparently a political science major and her ‘date’ had been the TA for one of her classes. Steve promised to corroborate her story when she brought it to the School Board the next day.

It wasn’t long before a beat-up Honda Civic screeched up to the curb and a cherubic woman with a bright pink mohawk was spilling out of the driver’s seat and scooping Patty up in a hug. There were tears, threats, promises, selfies with Captain America, and then they were gone.

Bucky witnessed the last of Captain America bleeding out of Steve with a deep sigh, the squared shoulders rounding into a position that tilted slightly to the side, a stance borne of familiarity with attempting to relieve some of the pain of a crooked spine. He watched icy blue eyes melt into something tired and resigned, before crinkling at the corners in a sheepish expression. He felt the almost stifling power of the Avenger fold back onto itself until he was once more in the comfortable and welcoming presence of Steve Rogers.

“Well,” Steve said after a long moment of shuffling feet and averted glances, “that is not the way I was hoping tonight would go.”

Bucky snorted inelegantly as he plucked the car keys from the dumbstruck valet who’d had to stand at his little podium and watch the entire debacle that just happened. “You telling me you don’t end every evening out with a daring rescue mission of a damsel in distress? Don’t I feel special.”

Steve slipped the valet a fifty with a shrug and a quiet, “Sorry about the hubbub,” then turned to take the keys from Bucky’s outstretched fingers and open the passenger door of the town car sitting further down the curb. “You are special, Buck,” he said softly.

Bucky didn’t know how to respond to that.

The drive back to Bucky’s apartment was quiet, soft jazz filtering through the turned down radio, neither man feeling the need to speak. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though, and Steve kept stealing glances over at Bucky, who was turning his little bonsai in his palms, stroking the little branches with gentle fingertips.

It wasn’t long before they were pulling up as close as they could get to Bucky’s building, Steve once again holding open the car door for his date, and gallantly walking him to his door. Bucky chuckled and ducked his head, but didn’t object. He didn’t look up until they were standing beneath the harsh light of the over-head door lamp; Steve’s thin face cut with shadows and his eyes dark beneath his brow. He looked like he wanted to say something, but kept biting the words back. So Bucky spoke instead.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he murmured, barely audible above the ambient noise of the city.

“Yeah?” Steve was just as quiet, but he smiled, wide and relieved. “Despite how it ended?”

“I mean,” Bucky rolled a shoulder in a half-shrug, “I'm not happy that it happened, but Captain America saved the girl and the bad guy got locked up. It’s not often that such things have fairy tale endings, so it could have been a lot worse.”

“I thought fairy tales were supposed to end with a kiss.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to Steve’s with a nearly audible _click_ , but he didn’t see the teasing light he was so used to witnessing from the other side of the counter at Jitterz. He saw nerves, a little bit of fear, resolution, and a lot of heat.

A _lot._

The taller man swallowed thickly, but refused to back down. His lips turned up in a grin that was only a little shaky. “I admit, that was smooth, Rogers. Very smooth. Musta practiced that one in the mirror a few times, ‘cause man, you aren’t usually--”

“Bucky.”

The brunette closed his mouth and just stared at the tiny blond in front of him, all squared jaw and clenched fists and piercing eyes, and felt a warmth crawling up his neck to his cheeks. “Y-yeah, Steve?”

“May I kiss you?”

Bucky didn’t laugh, or make a smart comment. He couldn’t. Not when Steve asked like that, serious and scared and bracing for a fist to the mouth instead of lips. He knew where-- _when_ \--Steve was from, the times he grew up in. He saw the flinches, and the fidgets, both before and tonight, whenever something like this was brought up or happened. He knew what it took to ask that question, out in the open literally under a spotlight. He knew.

So he didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything.

He just took a small step forward, fully into Steve’s space.

He lowered his head and dropped his shoulders.

He looked at Steve openly and without condemnation.

And nodded.

Even with permission, Steve moved slowly, telegraphing every motion and still half prepared to block a punch. He looked ready to bolt at anything, so Bucky just held himself perfectly still and let Steve come to him; a half-step closer, one hand on his shoulder, the other at his waist. He watched as Steve’s bright blue eyes flicked between watching his mouth and meeting his gaze. He kept his eyes open until the last possible second, when Steve’s breath warmed his lips and his eyelashes brushed his cheek. Then he closed his eyes and that last centimeter of space.

–

The only thing Steve can hear is the blood pounding in his ears when Bucky’s lips brushed his; a barely there touch that invites, but doesn’t demand. He feels a tightness in his chest that’s almost like an asthma attack, but gives him a feeling of warmth instead of cold panic. Finally, finally, as he slowly presses closer, the voice and teeth and poison are washed out of his brain by the feel, the smell, the _taste_ of Bucky. He knows, somewhere in the small part of him that’s still rational, that it isn’t gone for good, it’ll be back, perhaps louder than ever, but right here, right now, he clutches the silver silence close.

Long moments pass in a syrupy haze of lips, tongues, and curious hands. Bucky’s mouth teaches Steve’s how to dance and play, while fingers brush through hair and across cheeks and throats. Chest is pressed against chest and knees slip between thighs. There’s no rush, no hurry, no grabbing or grinding. Just an embrace close enough to feel heartbeats and the twitching of interested flesh. It's simple. It's honest.

It's perfect.

As they reluctantly part for breath, Steve palms stroke down Bucky’s arms, taking extra care to keep the pressure light on the left one, and twining their fingers together in the hand not clutching a tree pot. Bucky has to dip forward slightly because of his height, but he doesn’t complain, simply rests his forehead against Steve’s. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing heavier than normal, but both of them are still completely relaxed and they bask for a while, breathing each other’s air.

“Now _that’s_ a fairy tale ending,” Steve whispers, grin detectable in his voice. Bucky slumps even further forward, his forehead slipping from Steve’s to thump against his shoulder, his own shaking with laughter. Steve can’t help but be swept up in it, and they both laugh loud and long.

Still chuckling, Bucky straightens and brushed back the hair that Steve’s long fingers had pulled from his half-tail. “I really hope we can do this again, Stevie,” he admits earnestly. “Sometime soon.”

“Me, too,” Steve’s eyes are bright and his lips are kiss-bitten red. “You gonna plan the next one?”

Bucky nodded. “Count on it. Just don’t expect the same level of fancy-shmancy that tonight was. Livable wage or not, I’m still just a barista.”

Bucky could take him out for fast food burgers and Steve would be over the moon, but he didn’t say so. He just reeled Bucky in for another quick kiss, his insides thrilling at the ease of it. Grinning against soft lips and a stubbled chin, he said, “Text me your info and we can set something up.” Bucky’s laughter tasted like vanilla and coffee, and Steve knew that he could quickly become addicted. But he stepped back, an answering smile on his face.

He watched as Bucky pulled out his keys and shuffled through the heavy door, waving one last time before the steel blocked his view. As he made his way to the car and settled behind the wheel, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Fishing it out, he opened it to a text:

_Let me know when you get home safe. Thank you again for the bonsai._

His cheeks were sore by the time he stepped through his own front door. The smile would not leave his face as he toed off his shoes, texted Bucky, and began disrobing on his way to his bathroom to shower. After washing himself and brushing his teeth, he donned a pair of flannel pajama pants and settled in bed. He picked up his phone again, thumbed away several texts from Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Pepper, telling himself he’d talk to them tomorrow, and opened his chat with Bucky, seeing he’d sent a picture.

Warmth exploded in Steve’s chest and he couldn’t help the giddy, joyful noise that bubbled out of him. Bucky had sent a photo of his fire escape garden again, with a little bonsai tree nestled right in the middle of the frame.

_Night Stevie_ , the caption read. _Sleep well._

Steve returned the sentiment, clicked off his lamp, and curled into his blankets.

And slept well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the food is actually stuff straight off a menu of a restaurant called SOHO that is to DIE for. The elk is incredible.
> 
> Alright, y'all. Question time. Just how slow of a burn do y'all want this? Cause I can draw it out for many more chapters. Please tell me your thoughts, if you notice any errors, or anything at all. The temps just keep climbing here, and I need all the push I can get to sit and actually work on this. Ideas are many, motivation is few.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning came like any other, but Steve felt like his world had tipped on it axis.

He’d kissed Bucky.

That single thought refused to shake loose as he made his way through his morning routine; brush teeth—I kissed Bucky--, dress for run—I kissed Bucky--, eat a pre-run snack—I kissed Bucky—run his ten to fifteen miles, go to Jitterz, order his coffee, hand over the money to Freddie--

“I kissed Bucky.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think of catching them, and he could feel the blood drain from his face. A wooziness hit him, a ringing in his ears and a haziness at the edges of his vision that reminded him of the long ago days when his anemia would get bad. He was so off kilter that he nearly collapsed when Freddie reached across the counter and pushed his shoulder playfully.

“That’s my boy!” she was saying, smiling wide. “I knew y’all could do it! Lord, if you knew how long Barnes was pining for you...man, I don’t even know.” She slid Steve’s cash back over the counter to him. “This one’s on me, babe. Man, I am so psyched for you two. Both y’all too pretty to be real, and now you’re together...does my heart good, I tell you.”

Steve just stared at her while she kept talking and making his drink. The ringing in his ears was slow to fade, and it felt like his chest was filled with cold water. But he did it. He told someone he’d kissed another fella, and he hadn’t gotten his teeth knocked in. He was okay. _This_ was okay. He’d always known it, but now he was starting to _feel_ it. That rush, that clarity...shit, is this what drugs feel like? If so, he could quickly find himself addicted.

He was pulled out his musings by a mug being set in front of him and he looked up to see Freddie, a serious expression on her face. “I like you, Steve,” she said, “but Bucky is my boy. So I am obligated to tell you: you hurt him in any way, and there will not be enough of you for the serum to put back together. They will never find you, you understand?”

Steve almost smiled, but he bit it back, knowing she meant every word, even if he doubted she’d be able to follow through. He just gave her a patented Captain America nod, “Yes, ma’am.”

She snorted loudly enough for the sound to echo through the shop, “You are so full of shit, Steve. I see you over there, all indulgent and patronizing. You ain’t slick. But both you and Bucky have got closets full of clown-sized ‘ssues, and I don’t need either of you fucking this thing up because of ‘em.”

“Shoes?” Steve brow crumpled in confusion and Freddie rolled her eyes.

“ _Issues_ , Golden Boy. Lots and lots of issues. I don’t know yours, but I know Bucky’s, cause he’s my boy. He’s softer than you think, and I won’t see him hurt because you can’t understand that.”

Steve didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just nodded again and took his drink to his table. He pulled out his phone and started composing an email that he’d be sending to Patty’s school Board some time during the day. When he finished with that, he pulled up his message log with Bucky, smiling at the picture that was still visible.

_Freddie just gave me a shovel talk_

He set aside his phone and just people watched for a little while. He knew that Bucky tried to keep to his usual over-night schedule on his days off, but he was also prone to nodding off in the early hours of the morning and not waking up until after noon. Despite that, his phone buzzed now five minutes later.

_**I know. She just texted me, too.** _

Steve huffed out a laugh and glanced towards the counter, seeing Freddie leaned against the espresso machine with her phone out. He snapped off a quick picture of her and sent it to Bucky.

_She bought my coffee for me._

_**She’s awesome like that. Just don’t start expecting even more special treatment.** _

_Never._

_**So what are the plans for today? Gonna go rescue some kitties out of trees?** _

Steve couldn’t help but shake his head with fondness. _Nothing so mundane. We have a fly-over scheduled to check out a classified area for classified disturbances, from an anonymous and classified tip-off that we received not too long ago._

_**Well. That sounds...fun?** _

_Doesn’t it, though?_

The messages went silent for a while, and Steve turned his focus back to his drink, and watching the city wake up. He’d read someone’s description of the city once: _He had seen her wake in the morning like a slut, and pick murdered men from between her teeth, and suicides from the tangles of her hair. He had seen her late at night, her dirty back streets shamelessly courting depravity._ He knew just how ugly New York could be, then and now. But he also knew it’s beauty and strength. He knew how it carried itself like a phoenix every single day; burning out and rising in a million different ways that were invisible unless you knew where to look. He knew what his city was, and more importantly, he knew what it could be. What he could help make it into.

If it didn’t burn him out, first.

He was pulled from his musings by his phone chiming.

He opened the messenger to a picture of himself, seated at his table, here at Jitterz, apparently from across the street, and a line that said: _**Grab me one of my frappes.**_

His eyes quickly started scanning the far side of the road, and it took no time for him to zero in on a grinning Bucky, phone still in hand, standing directly across from him.

As soon as they both realized they’d spotted each other, they exchanged waves, and Steve went back up to the counter, where Freddie was already laughing and assembling Bucky’s frozen sugar monstrosity. When she passed it over with a wink, along with a hot to-go cup, Steve shouldered the door open and ‘jay-jogged’ across the road to a still smiling Bucky. He handed over the already condensation covered cup with a soft, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Bucky answered, before stepping a little bit closer, tilting his head in question and invitation.

Steve couldn’t stop the slimy shiver of fear that trickled down his neck, but he could keep it from stopping him. He shuffled half a step, pressed up on tip-toes, and brushed a quick, dry kiss across Bucky’s smiling mouth.  His ears started ringing again, but the pride and softness in Bucky’s eyes more than made up for it. 

No explanations were given for Bucky’s sudden appearance, they just found themselves lazily meandering through the blocks, shoulders brushing as they made small talk that didn’t feel forced. Steve would make off-hand comments about the change in architecture, and how you could still see bits and pieces from his time, and Bucky would pull him down alleys and back streets to a few out-of-the-way places that sold records or second-hand alternative clothing. And  if every now and then one of them reeled in the other for a quick coffee flavored kiss? Well, who had to know?

It was nice. Really nice.  Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually taken the time to explore the city. Keeping to himself had devolved into almost complete isolation, he realized. Ever since he’d woken up, he’d struggled to integrate with this new time, and after a while he’d just given up, wearing out a path between his (very small) handful of destinations; apartment, Jitterz, Tower, SHIELD complex outside of the city...and not much else. Not even the bodega down the street from his apartment, since he discovered grocery delivery.

“You do that a lot, huh?”

Steve frowned in confusion at Bucky’s comment.

“Get lost in thought,” Bucky clarified. “You haven’t heard anything I’ve said in the past few minutes, have you?”

Steve felt  the back of his neck heat up , and he hoped he looked appropriately apologetic. “Sorry, Buck,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Brain likes to go a million miles a minute, and it’s hard to keep up, sometimes.”

B ucky just shrugged, “It’s cool. I was just saying that there’s gonna be a free concert thing in Prospect Park this weekend, and I was wondering if that would be an acceptable venue for our third date.”

“Sure, sounds like fun. Wait,” Steve frowned. “Third date? Did I miss the second one?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and flung out his arms in an all-encompassing gesture. “What did you think this was, Stevie? I don’t crawl out of bed on my days off for just anyone, you know.”

That made Steve stop in his tracks for a long moment. This was a  _date_ ? Good Lord, was he really that far out of touch that he didn’t even realize?

Bucky’s laughter broke him out of his confused contemplation. “You look like a puppy that smelled something weird,” he said between chuckles. “Relax, Steve.  Date or not, I like spending time with you. You know that, right.”

“Of course I know that,” Steve assured quickly. “I feel the same. I just don’t want--”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off when his phone started buzzing and beeping in his pocket.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the soft  _pling_ of  a normal incoming message or call , but the loud, harsh  _clang_ Avengers tone that had him  snapping to attention and quickly pulling up the announcement . The fly-over had apparent l y become a ‘drop everything and go now’ intervention mission, as ‘allegedly’ had become ‘certainty’ with the detonation of several bombs in strategic areas.

Steve spared a few precious moments to  give Bucky a quick peck on the cheek and an abrupt explanation before he was sprinting away, running until one of Stark’s vehicles reached him and shuttled him the rest of the way to the Tower. His phone  _beeped_ once while he was getting ready, but he ignored it for the time being.

It wasn’t until he was fully suited up and in the Quinjet halfway across the Pacific that he was able to look at his phone again, his heart warming just a little beneath his stealth suit.

_Be safe, Stevie._

He basked in that warmth for just a few sweet seconds, then he pocketed his phone, shelved all thoughts of Bucky, drew himself ramrod straight and turned to his team.

“What’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one this time 'round. Hoping the next one will be longer, but I can only do as the muses bid. We're setting up for some angst people! Strap in!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve confronts the voice in his head.. Warning for reference to hate crimes, and homophobic language.

Steve watched the city lights bounce off the ice cubes in his glass for a long minute before he lifted it from his knee and sipped. The burn of the alcohol seared his throat enough to make him wince, but he took another sip anyways. It would do absolutely nothing for him, but he wanted to pretend for a little while. Pretend that he was a normal guy, in a normal room, getting normal shit-faced. No celebrity status, no ivory tower in the middle of Manhattan, no super metabolism to stop him.

Just pretend that he’d gotten home from the office job, frazzled from traffic, and the idiocy of managers, and the normal, everyday annoyances that normal, everyday people had; instead of days-long urban warfare with an organization he thought he’d given his life to stop, instead of every breath tasting like gasoline and blood, instead of sprinting on a broken leg in a desperate bid to save a family in a collapsing house, and having his superior body fail him.

Instead of coming home with the sickening film of hollow victory coating his insides like oil.

It was nice to pretend.

And it was fascinating, in a way, to feel things while also being separate from them. He knew, objectively, that he felt guilty, and upset, and angry, and so, _so_ tired. But he also knew that he felt overwhelmingly numb, even mildly amused at the pile of emotional filth that was piling up in his brain. And he knew, once it stopped growing and writhing and screaming to be heard, he would shovel every last bit of that filth into that special pit, right at the back of his mind, and never look at it again.

Oh, he’d never forget it, thank you super serum eidetic memory, but he wouldn’t acknowledge any of it. He’d close his mind’s eye to the fearful faces, the crushed bodies, the screams and sobs and wretched silences that only happened when every single aspect of life has been obliterated. The silence is the worst. The silence that was filled with the crackle of flames and the shifting of rubble and the patter of settling dust. He remembered that silence, from walking through bombed cities and pillaged towns in Europe. He remembered it in the little neighborhoods and ghettos of New York. He remembered it from his dreams, where everything, everyone, and everywhere all converged and merged to create his perfect, inescapable hell.

He was never allowed to forget war, but he’d be damned if he lived it every single second, like so many people are expecting him to. But he could pretend for a while.

He drained his glass with a shudder, then filled it again with whatever bottle of clear liquor he’d grabbed from the cabinet. He thought it might be a vodka, something that probably cost more than a car, but he wasn’t focusing on the taste, only the burn. The charade of inebriation is what mattered here. The play-acting of being a person; wake up, eat, run, coffee, shower, kill people, watch people die, save the world, be told you did the right things, get drunk, go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Like a normal human being, right? Same old, same old.

The soft, hydraulic _hiss_ of the door opening registered, but he didn’t move except to lift his glass to his lips again.

“I always thought that the brooding in the dark was Natasha’s thing.”

Steve still didn’t acknowledge Clint as he puttered around. He couldn’t even muster up a smile at the soft _thud_ and muttered curses that indicated that the archer had found the corner of one of the counters with his toe. He didn’t turn to watch the other man go through the motions of making coffee, even though it was well past nightfall, or as he stumbled his way over to the couch and plopped down beside Steve, hissing out another curse as he sloshed hot coffee over his fingers.

“Seriously, why aren’t there any lights on? I mean, JARVIS? Help a guy out here?”

“ _Steven requested that I do not activate the lights, Mr. Barton._ ”

“Did he say how come?”

“ _I’m afraid you would have to ask him yourself, sir._ ”

Clint heaved a deep sigh, “Right.”

Steve slammed the rest of his drink and leaned forward to refill his glass.

“Uh...do you...wanna...talk about it...or...something?” Clint sounded like he wanted to do anything but.

“Nope.”

Clint sighed again, then took a long, loud, obnoxious sip of his coffee, searching Steve’s face for any reaction out of the corner of his eye. Steve didn’t give one. “Sooooo...,” he tried again, “how are things with your...guy...friend?”

That got a reaction.

Steve’s head turned slow enough for Clint to regret every single life choice he made that led him to this point, and when Steve actually looked him in the eye, it took more strength than he would like to admit to keep from whimpering. It had been a long time since Steve had looked like that; cold and calculating in a way that you never really saw unless you’d walked a battlefield or two. It was easy to forget that Steve had walked a lot of them in a very short amount of time.

Clint had never approved of how they’d handled Steve when they first pulled him from the ice. The guy had seen—and done—a lot of fucked up shit in the span of a few months, dropped a plane in the ocean, expecting to die, and then—in what must have felt like no time at all to him—they resuscitated him, shoved his shield back on his arm, slapped him on the back, and pushed him back into the fight. That was bullshit. He’d said so, many times, during the whole process. But, Avenger though he might be, he was still just a guy with a bow and quiver, and he wasn’t ‘qualified’ to call those particular shots—heh, pun—, so he’d shut up, and just tried to help Steve where he could.

But right now? With Steve regarding him like he was on the wrong end of a pistol, ‘sorry-kid-it’s-just-business’, looking each and every one of his fight-filled years? Yeah, Clint wished he had just shut up and left.

“Was it Natasha?” the words were so, so cold and flat that Clint was surprised not to see Steve’s breath linger in the air.

He sipped his coffee again, licking is lips and clearing his throat. “Uh, Tony, actually. I stumbled on him filling a virtual cart full of,” he flipped his hand absently, “all this...‘bisexual pride’ stuff, and caught enough of the gist to talk him out of doing something stupid, like having it all shipped to your doorstep.”

“Hm.”

The room fell silent again. Now, as a sniper—technically—, Clint usually didn’t have a problem with sitting still and staying quiet. He was very good at it, in fact. But here, like this? Clint couldn’t help but fidget. A lot. Turning his mug in his hands, shifting his weight, heaving out sigh after sigh. Steve remained still, having turned to face forward again.

He couldn’t stand it any more. Clint slammed the rest of his scalding coffee, wincing as the first three layers of skin were peeled from his esophagus. He blinked back tears and coughed, once. “Well,” he croaked as he pushed to his feet and stumbled back over to the kitchen to deposit his mug in the dishwasher, “that was a great talk. Time to get some shut eye. Don’t stay up too late, okay, man? I’ll...I’ll see you in the morning, I guess?”

It wasn’t until the door was closed behind him that he thought he heard a very faint, “Sleep well, Clint.” But it could have just been the hydraulics.

Steve didn’t move for a very long time. Long enough for all the ice in his glass to melt, long enough for the ring of condensation on his knee to become a wet patch creeping up his thigh. Long enough for the chill and the stillness to call him back to those hours in the Arctic waters, so long ago, yet not long at all. Not for him.

It was that slight slip into memory that had him finally pushing to his feet, plucking up the nearly empty bottle in front of him to put back behind the bar. He burped softly, and gave a full body shudder at the aftertaste of all the alcohol in his system. Smacking his lips in disgust, he rinsed his glass, placed it in the dishwasher, then turned to the fridge to find a palate cleanser. After a quick perusal, he decided to prepare himself a fruit salad. He piled strawberries, blueberries, kiwis, peaches, and mangoes in his arms, and snagged a cutting board from the counter-top. Dumping the lot beside the sink, he began giving each of the fruits a quick rinse. He doubted that they really needed it, since they were small batch stuff, bought straight from farmers at the market just a few streets over, but after his first run-in with a waxed apple, he figured it wouldn’t hurt.

Pretty much everything in the kitchen was locally sourced, fully organic and often artisan. This was done mostly in deference to Steve, who was able to taste all the preservatives and chemicals that saturated a lot of foods these days. His body could obviously process it all, and it didn’t make him sick, per say, but that didn’t mean it was something he wanted to put it in his mouth. He had enough of that with Bruce’s and Stark’s protein additions.

Popping a blueberry in his mouth, Steve shuffled around; grabbing a bowl, a towel, and a small knife from the novelty knife block that Tony had gotten Natasha as a gift. It was in the generic shape of a person, and all the knife slots were different parts of the body, with embossed bloodstains trickling out of each one. When he’d given it to her, she’d kept it cradled in her lap for hours, stroking the knife handles and watching Tony with that flat, Russian look on her face. Tony had refused to sleep that night, but the next morning, it had replaced the sleek, dark-wood block that had resided in the kitchen before. No one knew what happened to it. No one asked.

Steve frowned when he realized he was holding the paring knife like he would the Ka-BAR that sits in a thigh holster on his suit. Quickly flipping it in his hand, he grimly set to work chopping the fruit into bite-sized pieces, munching on the blueberries as he worked. Dumping the sizable pile in a bowl, he sprinkled one of his (mostly) unflavored protein powder packets over the top and gave it a quick toss. He dutifully cleaned up his mess and topped off the salad with a drizzle of honey and a dollop of whole whipped cream.

He had a passing thought of taking a picture and sending it to Bucky, even pulled his phone from his pocket to do so, but thinking of his face made Steve flinch. He hadn’t contacted Bucky since he’d flown out, almost three weeks ago. At first, there wasn’t time, fighting Hydra in the bombed out shell of what was once a beautiful town, then the clean-up and rescue efforts that made him feel like every drop of his blood was replaced with acid. After that, Steve hardly felt human, let alone the type of person why deserved to even share space with someone like Bucky Barnes.

Not that those feelings stopped the fluttering warmth that blossomed in his chest at every message Bucky sent to him over that time:

_I hope you’re safe._

_Thinking of you._

_I saw the news. I’m so sorry._

_My bonsai has a flowers!_

_Freddie’s asking about you._

_Nathaniel created a new muffin for you to try._

_The news says you guys got in last night. Call me?_

Didn’t stop it, but that just made the guilt cut that much deeper. Heaving a deep sigh, he set his phone aside and started forking fruit into his mouth. For a long time, there was only the sound of crunching bites and the occasional _clink_ of the fork against the bowl. The skyline outside the window was starting to lighten from behind as the sun began creeping upwards. Steve was idly counting the windows going dark across the way as he speared the last few pieces of mangoes. He’d just reached thirty-two when his phone buzzed alarmingly loud on the metal counter-top. Expecting a message regarding the teams de-brief and reports, he thought nothing of flipping his phone back over thumbing it open. What he saw had him leaving his bowl on the counter and marching to the elevator.

“JARVIS,” he barked, throat burning suspiciously, “the garage. Please.”

_"Of course, sir."_

The tension that coiled across Steve’s shoulders refused to abate as he mounted his Harley and strapped on his helmet. The bike’s motor echoed deafeningly through the underground garage, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much, right now. He peeled out of his parking space and up the exit ramp, borderline reckless as he started weaving in and out of early morning traffic, heedless of the honks and cussing that followed him.

The city was flying by, but Steve didn’t see any of it. He was locked in the back of his head, wrestling with that damned voice that he realized sounded a great deal like the Southern preacher that spoke at his mother’s church for a few Sundays, when Father Bartholomew fell ill for a while. The more he actually thought about it, the more he could hear that fucking drawl that had chafed at him even more than the extra starch in his shirt collar.

 _**"** _ _**The abomination that is homosexuality must be purified in the fires of our Lord, amen!”** _

A slew of arson cases that were never really investigated popped up after that Sunday.

_**“** **To lie with anotha man is to be condemned, my brethren! To harbor such lust in your hearts is to welcome the Devil inta your houses! Repent and know the true might of God’s love! Can I get an amen?!”** _

That was the only time that Sarah Rogers had not gone to church. After that first Sunday, she had herself and Steve hold their own services in their tiny little tenement; reading from the good book and praying for a time of peace and understanding, until Father Bartholomew was well enough to resume his services.

Steve felt tears starting to blur his vision, and he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. His mother had obviously known. How had he never seen that? How could he have ever doubted her love and acceptance of who he was, when she had shown it in everything she said and did for him? He made himself a promise to bring flowers to her grave the first chance that he got.

In no time at all, he found himself just down the street from Jitterz. Even from where he was, he could smell the warm, almost chocolaty aroma of their espresso, and the comforting cimmamon-vanilla of the sticky buns that always sold out before eight. For the first time in almost a month, something in his chest unwound and he felt he could take a full breath again.

Pulling out his phone again, he looked at the picture that Freddie had sent him: a candid of Bucky, looking a bit more ragged at the edges than usual, almost swallowed up in a extra large sweatshirt, sitting at Steve’s table, chin propped in his hand as he stares out the front window.

What broke Steve, just a little bit, was the absence of Bucky’s large frozen coffee drink. Instead, it was once of the little specialty drink mugs, and the caption:

_He says they make him miss you a little less. He’s worried. We all are._

_**"** _ _**There is no welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven for the impure and deviant! Denounce them and hold fast to your faith, my brothers and sisters! The Lord’s love is your shield and sword against the forces of evil that wear the faces of the faithful! To know their evil is to see the truth, and to see the truth is to protect those who are still blind! Do not harbor the unnatural, but reveal it to the cleansing that is the Almighty’s holy and burning Judgment! Only in fire and blood can the unholy become holy! Only in repentance can the unclean be saved! Can I get an amen—I said can I get an AMEN?!”** _

**SHUT! UP!**

Tears started trickling down Steve’s cheeks as that voice; the one that had burrowed into his mind and haunted him since that one single Sunday, so very, very long ago, the one he hadn’t truly heeded until he watched his neighbors and associates nod in agreement to what it was spewing, the voice who’s words he heard repeated again and again as he passed smoldering bars, or sheet covered bodies in alleys, the voice that had drowned out even his own mother’s words—“ _God’s blessings are many and varied, Steven, as are the trials he places before us. The will of Him is not for us to know. We must only understand that everyone is His child, and worthy of love._ _If you cannot add to their blessings, at least do not add to their trials,”—_ that hated, poisonous, drawling voice...fell silent.

He choked out a quiet sob as he still sat astride his bike, helmeted head bowed low as he reveled in the silence as New York went about it’s morning around him. He breathed in the smog, listened to the rumbled of it’s mechanical and pedestrian pulse, and it felt like benediction. The city knew nothing of his revelations, and he appreciated that anonymity. He knew it wouldn’t last, knew that he didn’t really belong to himself, but he refused to let that fear rule him anymore. He had so few things that made him happy any more; he was gonna grab what did with both hands and hold on until he was asked to let go.

And one of those things with within reach right now.

Pulling off his helmet and wiping his face, Steve dismounted and strode towards Jitterz, the commuting crowds parting before him without really understanding why. He pushed the door open and, completely ignoring the small clusters of people at the counter and scattered around the tables, he went to the small table in the corner and the slumped figure that sat that there.

Heedless of Freddie, the whispers, the clicking cameras, everything but the man in front of him, he reached out and placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, smiling at the look of surprise and relief that dawned across a face that had a full beard now, and darker circles under the eyes than usual.

He was so beautiful.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said softly. “Sorry I didn’t call.”

Bucky didn’t speak for a beat. Two. Three. Steve refused to let himself question why, refused to let the tension pull at his shoulders or wind through his jaw. He just kept his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and let the other man look his fill.

Finally, Bucky stood and pulled Steve into a hug, giving Steve plenty of time to refuse if he wanted to. Steve didn’t. He flowed into Bucky’s arms, easy as breathing, tucking his nose against Bucky’s chest and wrapping his arms around his back.

“I missed you,” Bucky’s voice rumbled against Steve’s face as he pressed his cheek to Steve’s hair.

“Missed you, too, Buck. Sorry it took me so long.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really. But I’m a bit better now.”

Bucky squeezed tighter for a minute, then stepped back. He looked over Steve’s head and grimaced. The sound of loud whispers and clicking camera phones filtered into Steve’s awareness and he rolled his eyes. He needed to talk to Pepper. Later. Right now, he grabbed Bucky’s hand and started pulling him out the door.

“Can we relocate to your place?” he asked as he led Bucky to his bike. “I feel like we need to talk.”

Bucky chuckled, “For the record, no one wants to hear that sentence in regards to a relationship, but yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Steve handed him the helmet, and started the bike while Bucky climbed on behind him, winding his arms around Steve’s waist and leaning into his back. Steve gave his wrist a comforting squeeze, then pulled them out into the street.

The sun broke above the buildings, and it was blinding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up angsty-er than planned, but I what can you do. Thank you all for your patience and encouragement! It almost feels like I could end it here, but have no fear! The smut-y goodness with come! Along with more angst, some hurt/comfort, and so much more! Stay tuned to this space!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Steve talks more about his past and the root of a lot of his fears. There are descriptions of hate-crimes and suicide attempts that Steve talks about. It's not incredibly graphic, but please proceed with caution. Thank you.

The first impression that Steve got of Bucky’s apartment was _green_.

Shelves and tables and windowsills just bursting with greens and yellows and reds, with blues and purples scattered throughout. There were even a few larger pots sitting in the corners of the rooms, holding ferns and shrubs and bushes. The air was heavy with the scent of growing things, a myriad of flowers, and the wet undertone of dark soil.

“I thought it was just the fire escape,” he blurted as he copied Bucky’s movements of toeing off his shoes and putting them on the small rack by the door. He then realized what he said and blushed.

Bucky smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, looking around, “Yeah, it used to be. But plants are worse than crack, I swear. I just...whenever I go out, and I see one or two sad looking spider-plants, or a bunch of succulent leaves scattered on the ground...I just can’t help myself,” he shrugged and reached up to twine a trailing spider-plant stem gently around his finger. “They help me a lot, though. Give me routine and something to work towards. The colors keep the place from getting depressing, and seeing them everywhere makes the bad days not so bad. Like pets that I don’t have to walk or worry about shitting on the carpet.”

Steve nodded in understanding as he perused to tiny succulents that perched above the shoe rack. The little leaves and buds had a texture that fascinated him, looking too smooth to be real. He twitched his fingers slightly, absently wishing for paper and pencil, just to see if he could emulated that uniqueness on paper.

“You want something to drink?”

The question broke Steve out of his study and he nodded with a smile and followed Bucky to a smaller, but still plant filled kitchen. The scent of flowers drifted and merged with the sharper and warmer scents of herbs; mint and basil and thyme coiling around Steve and reminding him of the tenement around Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

“Is tea okay? I have juice, milk, a few cans of Pepsi, and maybe a beer or two in the back of the fridge.”

Steve chuckled as Bucky nearly crawled into his refrigerator to take stock of what he had for guests.

“Tea is fine, Buck. You got Earl Grey?”

Bucky straightened and started rooting around in a cupboard near the sink. “You bet. Want me to make you a London Fog?”

“Ah...hm?” Steve responded eloquently, having become riveted by the thin strip of skin of Bucky’s lower back that had been exposed by his reaching. He could see just the barest shadow of dimples at the base of his spine, and he realized that he very much wanted to touch, kiss, taste those little hollows.

“A London Fog,” Bucky continued. “It’s Earl Grey with milk and either lavender or vanilla syrup. They’re really good.” He turned back to face Steve, holding a box of tea bags and with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh. Uh...sure?” Steve only caught a word or two of what Bucky said before he turned around and theh sweatshirt covered what it had previously revealed, but Bucky _was_ a barista, so if he said something was good, Steve would trust him.

“Awesome,” Bucky’s smile was bright and warm, “just take a seat over there,” he motioned to the little round table and two chairs in the far side of the kitchen, “and I’ll have that ready in just a few minutes.”

Steve did as he was told and pulled out on of the chairs, angling it so he could keep Bucky in his sights. He watched the other man putter around his kitchen, completely comfortable in his space; pulling milk from the fridge and setting it to warm in a saucepan on the stove, plugging in his electric kettle to boil some water, and opening another cabinet beside the doorway to reveal a sizable collection of flavored coffee syrups, and pulling out a small bottle of lavender.

The quiet sounds of domesticity flowed through Steve like warm water, washing away every hard-packed pocket of the grime and filth that had built up inside of him for the past three weeks. If he closed his eyes and breathed in deep and slow, he could almost feel like it was a Saturday, late morning, with his mother having just woke up and was preparing breakfast in their tiny kitchen. The window would be open, and Steve would hear the calling of the paper boys and the clatter of the grocer’s trucks on the street below while he sat at the table and sketched whatever commissions he’d been lucky enough to pick up that week; maybe a small ad for the paper, or a new sign for the bookstore down the street. Soon enough, he’d be asked to clear away his work and set their places, his mother would click her tongue at the graphite stains on his hands, and send him to wash. They would then sit down, say grace, and talk about the weeks they’d had over the simple, yet filling, fare that Sarah had made for them.

The soft _clink_ of a mug being set in front of him brought Steve out of his musings, feeling only slightly bittersweet as he gave Bucky a smile of thanks. Curling his fingers around the warm ceramic, he breathed in the silky aroma of milk, tea, and lavender. The scent had coated his mouth even before he took the first sip, but it tasted even better, warming Steve inside and out, giving him that double-sided pleasure-pain memories that the taste of tea always brought forth, with the creaminess and sweet floral tones blunting the edges a bit; covering the cherry-red tilt of lips and bold clack of heels on concrete in a haze hearkening to the drinks namesake.

Steve smiled as he lowered his mug. “That’s really good, Buck. Thank for making it.”

Bucky lifted his own mug in salute. “My pleasure.”

For a little while, there’s nothing but the sound of quiet sips and relaxed breathing. When their mugs were about half empty, Bucky set his aside and leaned his forearms on the table. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Steve nodded and slid his own drink away, turning to contemplate the colorful pots of herbs above the sink and collect his thoughts.

“When I was around seventeen years old,” he began, not even fully realizing what he was going to say until it tripped off his tongue, “a man moved into our tenement, Mr. Fredlin. He was a good, hardworking man. Always helped Ms. O’Rourke with her groceries, had a pocket full of peppermint sweets for all the kids on the front stoop, always took off his hat when speaking to my ma about anything. He was good people.

“He shared his rooms with another man, Mr. Gallahger. Now, that wasn’t so uncommon, what with the Depression and all. Gotta save money where you could, and rent was easier when split two ways, right? But no one knew what Mr. Gallahger did for a living. To be honest, no one much cared, so long as rent was paid on time and no one caused trouble. Times were too tough to question where the money came from.”

Steve looked down at his hands, his fingers twining and flexing on the scratched up wooden tabletop, “There were some nights, when my lungs or heart or back wouldn’t let me sleep, I would go out on our fire escape for some air, and I’d see them, a story or two below me. They’d be sitting on those metal steps, Mr. Gallahger leaning back between Mr. Fredlin’s legs, talking softly and sharing a cigarette, or Mr. Fredlin’s fingers stroking through Mr. Gallahger’s hair.” He grimaced and blushed, “One night, I saw them doing a fair bit more than just sitting together. I didn’t stay, I’m not a pervert, but…”

“It got you thinking,” Bucky supplied softly.

Steve nodded and continued, “It was something of a revelation, I suppose, realizing that the things I heard whispered about, the things that the dock workers would infer to with grins and winks, weren’t as far removed as I thought. That it existed in a place so close to me. That there was an in-between, a middle ground from the land of ‘over there’ and...and my own head.”

“So that was your gay awakening?” Bucky’s words were teasing, but his smile was kind.

“Is that what they call it?” Steve asked around a soft chuckle. “But yeah, it was a...metaphorical solidification of all the feelings I’d been having. An answer to a lot of questions I didn’t know I had.” He grew somber again, grabbing his mug and spinning it between his palms. “There were so many other questions, though, and I wanted to ask them, to see if they could help me, y’know, figure everything out. They were just...so happy together. So relaxed about it, without being obvious. They simply...loved. But then a Southern preacher came to town--”

“Shit.”

Steve raised his eyes, lifting a tired brow. “They still that bad, even now?”

Bucky clenched his jaw and nodded sadly, “Unfortunately. Could be that they’re even worse, what with the rise of ‘televangelists’, being able to reach a larger audience.”

Steve felt his mouth twist in disgust. He remembered those; he’d stumbled upon them when he’d struggled to reignite his faith in some way, and the entire practice left him with a bad taste in his mouth. To have access to prayers and services without having to leave your home is one thing, but to be blatantly told that God’s love and protection had a dollar amount...Steve quickly and eagerly washed his hands of all of that very early on.

“As I was saying,” he resumed, and Bucky nodded in concession, “a Southern preacher came to our neighborhood, and spoke at the local church. Only for a few weekends, because the residing Father had gotten sick. But it was enough. He spewed words that burned like acid and stuck like tar. And to see so many people that I got on with, tipped my hat to, made small talk with, agreeing with him, and shouting along with his vitriol...I don’t think I’ve ever been that afraid of the people I shared space with.”

Bucky remained silent, but he reached across the table and gently pried one of Steve’s hands from his mug to twine their fingers together with a comforting squeeze.

Steve squeezed back with a grateful smile, but it slid away quickly. “Ma and I refused to attend after that first sermon, but we couldn’t get away from those words. Mr. Fredlin and Mr. Gallahager didn’t sit on the fire escape any more. Matter of fact, we didn’t really see much of them after that. They only ever really came and went for work and groceries. No more chats in the stairwells, or sweets for the kids on the stoop.

“Then there was a fire,” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper, but it still echoed in the space of Bucky’s kitchen. “A bar, just a few streets over. Word was that it was one of _those_ bars. It was clearly arson, and a slaughter on top of that. The doors had been barred from the outside, and torches had been tossed through the windows. Nineteen people, dead. The police did a half-assed investigation, if that, and the whole thing was ruled as ‘unfortunate’,” Steve spit the word like the most vile of curses. His pulse was throbbing behind his eyes as he remembered the day it happened. “Mr. Gallahger didn’t come home that day, and when I went out on the fire escape that night, I saw Mr. Fredlin with an empty bottle of rot-gut and two lines of red across his wrists.”

Bucky made a choked off sound of hurt, unable to clearly articulate his horror, but Steve kept talking, staring off into the middle distance and hardly hearing his own voice.

“I woke Ma, and together we were able to get the bleeding stopped and Mr. Fredlin back inside, and all through us doing that, he just kept begging us to let him die. Said he wanted it on his own terms, where the memories were good, and not in an alley, or the docks, or god forbid, in an asylum room or prison cell.”

A wet sniffle broke Steve out of his memories, and he looked across the table to see tears falling silently from Bucky’s eyes, his face crumpled in dismay and anger. Steve opened his mouth to say something, to comfort him, tell him it was a long time ago, that it was okay...but he was sure Bucky would hear the lie, so he just closed his mouth and squeezed Bucky’s hand a little bit tighter. The pressure Bucky exerted in response would have probably been painful to anyone else, but Steve bore it easily and brought his other hand to settle over the white-knuckled grip.

The sound of sniffles and soft hiccups filled the space for a while, and Steve was content to let it be. He still felt like he should explain where he’d been these past few weeks; he honestly hadn’t been planning on bring up such ancient history at all, but with the revelations of the ride over still feeling raw, he felt the need to share. He hoped he hadn’t caused too much damage.

The buzz of his phone was harsh and loud in the quiet, and it made both of them flinch. Shooting Bucky an apologetic look, he fished his phone out of his pocket as the other man wiped at his face with his sleeve. He flinched again when he saw the message from Pepper Potts:

_It’s not as bad as it could have been, but if you and James could please come to the Tower at your discretion, we can start to control where this goes from here._

And a link to a tabloid site, headline bold and brash:

**IS AMERICA’S STAR SPANGLED** **HEART-THROB** **OFF THE MARKET** **? CAPTAIN AMERICA SEEN EMBRACING MYSTERY MAN IN MANHATTAN COFFEE SHOP.**

Steve rolled his eyes at the horrible click bait and the amateur cellphone pictures of him and Bucky, neither of their faces really visible, but enough for people to know who he was. When Bucky made a questioning noise, he handed his phone over, patting his hand in sympathy as he read through the article.

“Not how I wanted to go about doing this,” he admitted in a soft voice, the quiet around them still a palpable thing. He took his phone back from Bucky and reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry I sprung all of this on you at once. I wasn’t really thinking, beyond wanting to see you again.”

Bucky nodded absently, leaning into Steve’s hand and giving one more loud sniffle. “Definitely not how I thought the day was gonna go,” he admitted with a soggy smile.

Steve snorted, loud and rude, finally rupturing whatever delicate blanket was covering them. “I should hope not,” he sobered quickly, though, needing Bucky to actually understand what was happening. “This…,” he flicked a hand between them, forcing the words out even though they hurt, “doesn’t have to happen. None of the pictures got your face, I don’t think, and Pepper is the best at what she does. It’s beyond ridiculous of me to even remotely expect you to be okay with almost a month of no contact, then having me dump everything I just did in your lap, and then having to sign NDAs and start thinking about press conferences and every single, fucking nightmarish thing that comes with being a part of my life.”

Steve scrubbed his palm roughly across his face as his brain started frog-marching him down the many ways that this could go; good to very, very bad. He was starting to feel like he was getting cerebral whip-lash, which made him highly concerned for Bucky’s mental capacity to process all of this. “We’ll obviously do everything we can to keep you safe and make sure your life stays as normal as possible,” he continued, frowning down at the tabletop as he fleshed out plan after plan. “Same for everyone at Jitterz, since that’s where this all started--”

Bucky’s snort was even louder than his had been, and he couldn’t help but huff out a chuckle. Steve flexed his hand clasped in Bucky’s and continued, “Tony is probably already beefing up security at the building, if he hadn’t been already, and contacting all the employees to update their worker agreements and start offering hazard pay and such. Obviously, anyone who wants to bow out gracefully will be generously compensated, and any new hires will be made aware of the risk.”

“That’s all well and good, Stevie,” Bucky said, and oh, God, Steve had missed hearing him say his name like that, “but I need more info on where you and I stand in all of this. Freddie and the rest can take care of themselves. What do _we_ need to do?”

It had been a long time since words had impacted Steve in any great way, but that ‘ _we’,_ said so naturally, like it was the simplest thing; the two of them against anything the world could throw, made his nose burn and his chest tighten. Jesus wept, he didn’t think he’s ever fallen so hard and fast for someone, didn’t think it was even possible.

But looking into Bucky’s steel-blue eyes, bright and focused and jut the slightest bit blood-shot, feeling his hand strong and sure in his own, asking him what they both needed to do to stay together through the shit-storm on the horizon…

It would be so easy to love this man.

Hell, he was probably more than half-way there already.

Damn if this was the time for such revelations, though. Steve cleared his throat and gave Bucky a shaky version of his ‘Bullet-in-the-barrel-of-your-best-guy’s-gun’ smile. “How about we take this back to me place. Wanna meet the Avengers? They really wanna meet you.”

Bucky’s smile was bright and only a little bit terrified.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for a very mild panic attack near the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy God, this took forever! But we're reaching the point of secrets, confessions, and bared souls! We're almost at the point of earning the rating! We're getting there, okay?!

The ride to the Tower was more or less a debrief for Bucky. Steve tried to let him know everything that was going to happen and give him a rundown on who might be in the Tower for their arrival. Steve promised that the only people he absolutely had to interact with were Tony, since he was Bucky’s boss, and Pepper Potts, as she was the one in charge of the paperwork. Anyone and any thing else could wait, indefinitely, if that’s what he wanted. Bucky didn’t say much—couldn’t really get a word in edgewise, honestly—but he squeezed his arms around Steve’s waist and made appropriate noises at appropriate times as they passed security and pulled into a parking space in the underground parking garage beneath Avenger’s Tower.

Steve was still rattling off useless information as they entered the elevator, not even really sure what was coming out of his mouth anymore, but unable to stop, until Bucky laced their fingers together and leaned down to place a quick kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Breathe, Stevie,” he said quietly. “It’s gonna be alright. Alright?”

Steve felt like his rib cage was going to explode, but he pulled in a deep breath, squeezed Bucky’s hand, and nodded. “Alright,” he wheezed on an exhale. “Alright,” he said again, voice a bit stronger. “JARVIS, can you take us to my floor, and have Tony and Pepper meet us there?”

“ _Sir and Mrs. Potts are already awaiting your arrival, Captain._ ”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“ _Of course, Captain._ ”

The elevator began moving silently upwards, and Steve glanced at Bucky to see him looking at the ceiling with an expression of slight awe.

“Oh, um, that’s JARVIS,” Steve started explaining, “he’s--”

“Stark’s A.I.,” Bucky interrupted, eyes bright. “It...he? They?”

“ _I am without gender, but Sir has always assigned me a male designation, Mr. Barnes._ ”

“Uh...right. Thanks. But, I read about...him in Popular Science a few years back. Entire automation of The Tower, connection to all of the Iron Man suits, and even a simplified version in every Stark phone. He’s a scientific and programming marvel.”

“ _Thank you, Mr. Barnes_.”

The rest of the ride was silent, but the anxiety that had kept Steve’s shoulder’s tight and mouth thin was waning. Plans were in motion, things were being taken care of. He resolutely ignored the voice in his brain that told him ‘Plans never survive first contact’, and focused instead on the slightly damp warmth of Bucky’s palm pressed against his. That small sign of nerves from the other man comforted Steve in ways that he didn’t really understand, but welcomed anyways.

The elevator doors opened silently, but JARVIS emitted a soft _ding_ to alert those already inside that Steve and Bucky had arrived. Steve’s jaw clenched again, and he took deep, slow breaths to keep his shoulders from climbing around his ears, but he refused to release Bucky’s hand as they stepped out into the hallway leading to his apartment.

They were nearly at the doors when a thought struck him, making his stomach twist. “JARVIS, are Tony and Pepper the only one’s in there?”

“ _Agent Romanav and Director Fury are also present, Captain. They requested that I not reveal their presence unless you asked._ ”

“Oh, hell no,” Steve immediately turned on a heel and started dragging Bucky back to the elevator. “Tell Tony we’ll meet him upstairs in Pepper’s office. This is absolutely not happening.”

“Steve? What’s wrong?”

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand and tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Just a few uninvited guests that are far too eager to meet you.”

Bucky’s mouth turned down at the corners, “Are you trying to hide me?”

“Of course not, Bucky,” Steve assured quickly. “Those two just...I think they’re having a hard time accepting that I’ve moved past my need of them in my life in the capacity that they’re used to.”

“...okay? I have no idea what that means.”

Steve’s smile came a bit more easily at the confused look on Bucky’s face. “I’ll explain in a bit. First, we’re going to Pepper’s office. JARVIS?”

“ _Director Fury had requested that I keep you from leaving the floor, Captain.”_

Steve’s lip curled in a grimace. “Of course he has,” he muttered under his breath, before speaking clearly again, “Resident override seven-nine-three-five-six-seven-two. Elevator arrival to current location and destination Pepper Potts’ office. Lock.”

“ _Of course, Captain.”_

The elevator door opened with a silent _whoosh_ of air and Steve quickly pulled them both inside. He could see the doors of his apartment starting to open as the elevator doors slid shut, and they were off once again. This time, he didn’t relax; his legs stayed locked, and he had to consciously keep his fingers from crushing Bucky’s hand in his. The back of his neck felt like it was made of concrete, and he wished he could give Bucky some reassurances, that he clearly needed, shifting his weight and glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t get his jaw to un-clench enough to speak.

In no time at all, they were exiting the elevator into a monolithic and modern reception area. Steve nodded curtly to Marina at her desk as he passed and shoved through the dark wood doors into Pepper’s office. The far wall behind the ivory-colored desk was all windows, and Bucky pulled away from Steve to marvel at the vista of Manhattan.

The still rising sun set everything in contrasts of blindingly reflective glass and chrome with deep slashes of shadow behind the taller skyscrapers, and the sheer drop at the tips of Bucky’s boots had his stomach quivering with that instinctual fear  and a little dash of  _l'appel du vide._

A quiet  _hiss_ of hydraulics had him turning from the view to witness Pepper Potts and Tony Stark stepping out from an elevator that wasn’t there before. Apparently, one of the bookshelves had hidden it from sight. Handy.

“Well, that was a delight,” Tony said as he made a beeline for the bar on the other side of the room, only to make a ninety degree turn towards the desk when Ms. Potts delicately cleared her throat. “Always wonderful to get a visit from ‘Tall, Dark, and, Resting-Bitch-Faced’, unexpected and uninvited though he may be. Peps, can you remind me to tighten the visitor regulations for the residential floors of the Tower? Natasha has started running with a questionable crowd, and I don’t like being surprised in my own home. Makes me twitchy. And thirsty. And hungry. Hi, Buckaroo. Long time no see. Congrats on breaking the internet. Go big or go home, right?”

Bucky didn’t even try to get a word in edgewise as Tony circuited the desk, clapped him on the shoulder, then once again made for the bar, only to turn away once again as Ms. Potts caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.

“And good for you, Cappy-Cap, remembering the residential over-ride!” he kept talking as he strode towards Steve. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, what with that super memory thing of yours. Still, very good, and thank you for giving us the reasons and excuses to remove our persons from that absolutely terrifying one-eyed glare Fury loves so much. I think even Natasha was impressed.” He stepped close to Steve, suddenly serious, and his voice dropped. “You know you can’t avoid him forever,” he murmured. “I hate to say it, but you’re gonna have to choose a definite side soon. He really didn’t look happy.”

Steve clenched his teeth until his jaw creaked as he watched Tony make his way back over to the desk, handling the introduction of Bucky to Pepper.

Nicholas J. Fury was not a man who smiled, nor  was he prone to displays of temper. Still, he had ways of making his displeasure known.  He’d definitely be displeased with this turn of events.

H e, along with S.H.I.E.L.D as an organization, told him, after he came out of the ice and went through his re-education about the world at large, that as a n icon of American history , Steve had an image to maintain. Politics and sports teams not withstanding, they were banking heavily on the history that Steve had with the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D, Peggy Carter,  to keep them in the good graces of several world governments . He was warned, in so many words, that he was the face of something important and as such, would be under constant scrutiny and would find it in his best interest to play along with most, if not all, popular speculations about himself and his life experiences. To avoid any...unsavory incidents, of course. 

He hated every minute of it.  Steve had never been someone to kowtow to prejudice, and the liberties they took with  the Captain America name and image while he was in the ice made the outfit even more ill-fitting than usual. But he wouldn’t be the only one to come under fire if he didn’t obey orders; there were so many people that stood beneath the shadow of the Captain America mantle now, that he had no choice but to grit his teeth and smile for the cameras, nodding along with every vapid talk show host and trying to keep as much truth as he could in his comments: 

“I miss Peggy, and the Commandos, every day.”

“I’m not seeing anyone right now, no.”

“I think I just need to focus on myself right now. Lots of catching up to do, y’know.”

“No, no one will ever replace her.”

“She was a friend of a friend. It was a nice time out, but the spark just wasn’t there for me. Maybe I’m just too old fashioned for today’s dating scene.”

“I think it’s wonderful how far this country has come in regards to accepting everyone.”

“Thank you so much for having me here. I had a wonderful time.”

That last one was always a full-blown lie, and one he never felt bad about telling. He knew that they were only doing their job, but holy shit, did they never get any new questions?  It was always about Peggy, and his love life, and what ever candid tabloid rags they could pull up with his face plastered on the cover. And all he could do was smile his  USO  smile, nod his head, and try not to puke or punch somebody.

Even now, with Captain America fully separated from S.H.I.E.L.D, or what was left of it, Fury figured he’d have a say in how Steve conducted his affairs. Maybe he thought Steve owed him something, maybe he thought he still had some control over the Captain America title.

Maybe he thought he could use Bucky as a leash, the way he tried to use  Peggy, the Howlies, and  Phil Coulson’s memory.

That thought made Steve very angry.

But Fury could wait; until hell itself froze over as far as Steve was concerned. There were more pressing matters right now.  Squaring his shoulders, he strode over to the desk, where the other three were hunched over a scattering of papers and Pepper’s holograph computer monitor.

“...and we’ve done what we could to protect all your information,” Pepper was saying, “but there are always leaks and gaps, regardless of what Tony says. Unfortunately, your service records were public domain. We already have a first draft of most of the orders and contracts that you might have to invoke against media or individuals that breach your privacy or make you feel unsafe. This is the entry level NDA that all frequent visitors to the Tower sign; employees and such. This one is the Level Two NDA, for those that have access to the residential floors of the Tower. This is signed by Tony’s lab assistants, my assistants and secretaries, Bruce’s yoga group, and Clint’s favorite pizza delivery guys,” she flashed a small smile, and Steve watched Bucky relax a bit more.

S teve couldn’t help how his shoulder’s squared when Pepper glanced at him; she had that affect on everyone, even Tony. “I know it’s not what you want to hear,” she said, not unkindly, “ but there will probably have to be an official press release sometime within the next  week or so .” She straightened from leaning over the desk and flicking up the tabloid websites with their ridiculous headlines on her  computer screen. “We have time, but not much, to control the spin of this, and there’s a certain level of absurdity that it’s not bad to reach before we bring things back down to reasonable levels,” she smiled and shook her head. “I can’t tell you how many people  swore that  I had seduced both Tony and Obediah and got them to turn on each other  so I could take control of Stark Industries after they’d killed each other before it came to light that Obediah was merely ‘another power-hungry asshole’. The truth will be annoyingly mundane compared to the outlandish theories people will come up with between now and the conference, and there’s a level of protection in that.”

S teve nodded seriously, even as Bucky snorted out a quiet laugh next to him. Then something Pepper had said finally pinged in his brain: Service record? Bucky was military, or at least had been? He knew that he had absolutely no place to feel hurt at not knowing this little tidbit, seeing as they’d had three dates before Steve ghosted him for almost a month, but Steve couldn’t help the little sting in his chest when he glanced at Bucky with an eyebrow raised. That was for another time, though.

“How are we gonna do this?” he said at last, bracing his hands on the desk and looking over the paperwork with a critical eye. “I suggest a small security detail, especially if Fury is interested in this, whatever his reasons may be, but nothing ostentatious. Two, maybe three people, and random sweeps of both the shop and Bucky’s neighborhood for bugs, strange persons, and traffic anomalies. Nothing too invasive, of course, and absolutely no bugs of our own. Tony, can you get Bucky a new Stark phone? I’d feel better if he had a direct line to JARVIS and the rest of us. And if you haven’t got that new manager in place at Jitterz yet, I say it should be someone with experience in security and urban combat. I doubt that anything’ll actually happen at the shop, but I’d like a contingency in place in case anything goes tits up.”

A mockingly cleared throat had him straightening to look into laughing gray eyes with an eyebrow raised to ridiculous heights. “Why don’t we  jam  a tracker in my ass cheek, a camera in my cornea, and strap me in a baby harness across your chest, just for good measure,  _ Captain _ ?”

Tony guffawed as Steve  rubbed the back of his neck and  cringed slightly at the image;  Bucky’s larger frame strapped to his chest, his feet dragging on the ground and Steve all but hidden behind his torso as they walked. 

Ugh.

But he got the point. “Sorry, Buck,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I just...I would rather take on an entire battalion of Nazis in my skivvies than deal with ‘the press’ and ‘the public  opinion ’, and I don’t want you to have to put up with any of the shit that they think they can pull with public figures and those close to them.  And then there’s the fact that I’m not...I think the term is...out?  Of the wardrobe? Or something like that? ” 

B ucky nodded even as Tony snickered into his hand. “I get it, and I’m no t thrilled about my life being plastered across the front page of The New  Your Times, but you gotta remember that this is an ‘us’ thing, not just a ‘you’ thing. I get a say in how my life goes.”

“I know that, Buck,” Steve assured earnestly, reaching across the desk to grip Bucky’s hand, “but this isn’t something you’ve dealt with like we have. Ms. Potts here is a miracle worker, no lie, but each and every Avenger has taken actual courses in how to handle the press, politicians, and the over-eager everyday Joe-schmoe. You haven’t. I need you to trust us, and me, about what needs to happen, because it can get a lot worse than you think, a lot _faster_ than you think.”

Bucky remained silent for a long while, and Pepper and Tony stepped to the other side of the desk to give them the illusion of privacy as they shuffled the papers together. Finally, he heaved out a sigh and nodded, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze. “There’s a story behind that last comment,” he murmured, eyes sharp, “don’t think I don’t recognize that tone. But I do trust you, and them,” he nodded towards the other two, and Pepper gave him a gentle smile. “I guess it’s just finally hitting me that this is serious, and real, and I’m gonna have to make some changes to my life.” He grimaced, only half mocking, “I happen to really like the routine of my life, and change never really came easy after…,” he shrugged his left shoulder. “Structure is kinda necessary for my well-being. I  tend to fall apart a little  without it.”

Steve could only nod. There was a story behind that, too, but it could wait. Right now, there were other things that were more important. “Is all the paperwork in order, Pepper?” he said, releasing Bucky’s hand with a final squeeze.

“As far as I can get it,” she said, slipping the not inconsiderable stack into a binder and sliding it over to Steve. “I suggest, as always, that neither of you sign any of it until you can sit down with a lawyer and go over it completely and revise what you need to. These are just umbrella contracts and such, and need to be fine-tuned to your specifics.”

“First chance we get,” Steve agreed, picking up the binder and tucking it under his arm.

“Actually,” Tony said, “ Buckaroo, as your boss, I give you tomorrow off so you can go get this squared away. In fact, I’ll be closing up the shop bringing myself and the required paperwork to Jitterz tomorrow to get everyone up to speed. JARVIS, please notify all Jitterz employees of a mandatory meeting tomorrow afternoon. Lunch and overtime pay will be provided. Ask about dietary restrictions and allergies.”

“ _Of course, sir. And I have noted that Director Fury and Agent Romanov have left the Tower.”_

“Oh, good. I don’t like him in my Tower. Harshes the vibes and clouds up the energy.”

Pepper raised a delicate eyebrow, “Have you been sitting in on Bruce’s yoga again?”

“There’s a lovely woman who brings in the most delightful vegan brownies. They remind me of the ones I had in college.”

“Hmmm.”

Steve rolled his eyes at the interactions of the couple before snagging Bucky’s hand in his and started pulling him towards the door. “Thank you again,” he called, “both of you.” Bucky echoed the sentiment, goodbyes were exchanged, and then they were back in the elevator. A tension that Steve hadn’t even known was there leeched out of his shoulders so quickly that he swayed for a moment, a few spots flickering in his vision.

“Hey, whoa,” Bucky quickly wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close to his side, tucking a blond head under his chin. “Everything okay?”

Steve burrowed closer with a tired sigh. “I don’t regret being an Avenger,” he said after asking JARVIS to bring them back to his floor. “ I can help a lot of people and do a lot of good;  but the media circus that comes with it...I have enough of that when I was with the USO. Same old song and dance, and I still have two left feet in all of it. And now I’ve dragged you into it, too.”

Bucky hummed out a sympathetic noise and pressed a kiss to Steve’s hair. “You didn’t drag me into anything, babe,” he said, the endearment slipping out easily. “Remember that I pretty much plopped myself in your lap and demanded that you take me on a date. And, yeah, I might have underestimated the whole... _ life in the public eye  _ thing, but like I said before: I don’t regret any of this. We’ll handle it. Together, yeah?”

Steve heaved out another sigh, letting all the remaining tension leave him. “Together sounds really, really good,” he confessed, tilting his head up and nuzzling against Bucky’s cheek, but before he could get around to actually asking for a kiss, the elevator door opened and he pulled away to lead the way to his apartment.

The door slid open, and Steve toed off his shoes as soon as he stepped inside, setting the binder on a small table in the front hallway. He smiled as Bucky struggled to kick off his boots, then lead him through into the open floor of his Tower apartment.

“Now I know that it looks like a lot,” he said quickly, watching Bucky’s jaw go slack as he took in the giant windows, sunken living-room pit, and steel and marble kitchen area, every done up in shades of silver, cream, and black, “but that’s only because Tony really does have trouble expressing any kind of affection in a way that isn’t monetary or material. I don’t spend a lot of time here, since I got my own place in Brooklyn, but it’s always kept clean and stocked for when I do stick around.”

Bucky was turning slow circles as Steve spoke, eyes just getting wider and wider, until he swallowed loudly and turned back to Steve, his face alarmingly pale. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom really quick,” he said, voice strange-sounding and tight, “and then I’d really like to go back to my place.” His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, and he honestly looked afraid. “It’s really nice here, but it feels way too open an-and empty for me to--” he hiccuped a little roughly as he forced himself to take a breath. “I need to go home, Stevie,” he said. “I want you to come with me, but I need to go home. Please.”

Steve didn’t hesitate to grab Bucky’s hand and pull him back the way he came. He knew that look. He’d seen it in the warped glass  of an old storefront the first time he tried to walk through his childhood neighborhood, and ended up running back to the SHEILD, the burning in his chest the only thing familiar anymore. 

Bucky needed out, Steve would get him out, simple as that, regardless of plans of breakfast, showers, and talking together on the couch.   


No plan survives contact.

He scooped up their shoes and the binder, passing Bucky his boots as they quickly moved to the elevator in their socked feet. “There’s a bathroom in the lobby,” he said, keeping his voice casual and his hand gentle around Bucky’s trembling fingers. “We’ll hit that on our way to the garage. You wanna take a car instead of the bike this time?”

Bucky remained silent as he stomped into his boots, and Steve didn’t press. He simply accepted that his apartment here was off-limits and to make sure that he didn’t have any dirty underwear on the floor of his place in Brooklyn when he brought Bucky over to visit. Neither of them spoke as the doors opened and they had to cross a floor of offices to reach the elevator that would take them to the ground floor of the public parts of the Tower. They didn’t stop holding hands, though, and Steve gradually felt Bucky stop trembling, though his palm remained clammy.

After their detour to the lobby, Steve was quickly stowing the binder in his bike’s storage compartment and throwing a leg over the seat as it roared to life. Bucky was instantly behind him, arms wrapped tight and helmeted head pressing uncomfortably to his shoulder.

“Take me home, Stevie,” he heard Bucky whisper through the helmet mike. “I wanna go home with you.”

Steve said nothing, but gave Bucky’s arm a gentle squeeze as he directed the bike out of the garage and into the flow of morning traffic, turning towards the rising sun.  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are descriptions of military service and injuries in this chapter, explaining Bucky's PTSD response in Steve's Tower apartment and how his arm got injured. Nothing is overly graphic, but if you wish to skip it, you can jump from 'I used to be a Green Beret' to 'Imma take a quick shower'.

The ride to the apartment was silent, and Bucky’s grip around Steve’s waist remained locked tight until the second Steve kicked the stand down. Then he was staggering off the bike, fumbling with the helmet before practically throwing it at Steve, and more or less bolting for the door. Steve followed, growing more and more concerned as Bucky fumbled his keys, dropping them twice before twisting the lock with enough force to bend the key slightly, shoving open the door and pounding up the stairs.

Bucky tumbled into his apartment, taking great, gulping breaths as he ripped his jacket from his shoulders. Steve closed the door quietly behind himself, wrinkling his nose at the acid scent of Bucky’s fear cutting through the cool aroma of greenery. He wanted to wrap Bucky up in his arms and never let him go, but the other man looked primed to throw a punch at anything that even looked at him wrong; shoulders high and tight, fists clenched, eyes flicking around wildly. So Steve didn’t move, merely stood by the door as Bucky made a circuit of his apartment, ducking in and out of doors and carefully burying his face in blossom after blossom, taking it the scents of the flowers and the silky texture of their petals on his cheeks and lips.

It took longer than Steve would have liked, but Bucky’s shoulders eventually relaxed, and he started breathing a little easier, a little deeper. He still didn’t move from where he stood sentinel at the door, but he felt his own chest loosen as the other man came back to himself and simply bask in the scent and sight of the growing things he surrounded himself with.

“Well,” Bucky said, voice a little rough and face crunching up in a sheepish smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “that was embarrassing. Didn’t mean to lose my cool like that. Sorry.”

Steve finally stepped away from the door and approached Bucky slowly, making sure to telegraph as he came closer and closer. “Nothing to apologize for, Buck,” he assured quietly. “I get it. Some spaces just don’t feel right, no matter what. I hate train cars and server rooms, myself. Doesn’t matter how gussied up or high tech they are. Can’t stand ‘em.”

“But it’s your place and--”

“More like a permanently reserved hotel room that I use from time to time,” Steve corrected. “My home is in Brooklyn, not the Tower, and I hope that I’ll get to show it to you someday soon.”

Bucky’s smile was a little more genuine this time, “I’d like that. Just...not today?”

Steve smiled and nodded in agreement. “Not today.” He didn’t hesitate as Bucky held out a hand to him, just stepped close and let himself be wrapped up in arms that trembled only a little bit, and twined his own arms around a back that was only slightly too tense.

They stood for a long time, just holding each other until Bucky’s trembling stopped and his muscles unclenched. Even then, they didn’t let go, but allowed palms and fingers to start stroking and traveling, skipping over shoulders and elbows and napes and hips.

-

It wasn’t until Steve’s phone _plinged_ with a rapid succession of messages they pulled apart, too raw to be embarrassed. Steve thumbed through the tirade of hurt that Clint had sent him, bemoaning the fact that he hadn’t been able to meet Steve’s gentleman caller while they were at the Tower, and attempting to wheedle out a promise that he’d be the first, next time they were around. Steve ignored all of it, knowing Clint didn’t mind being left on ‘read’ for a few days, because he isn’t a hypocrite, like Stark, and slid his phone back into his pocket and turning his attention back to Bucky.

“Do you need me to get out of your hair,” he asked, “and let you get more settled?” He really didn’t want to leave Bucky when he was feeling vulnerable, but he also understood that a lot of people weren’t comfortable with others seeing them in such a state. If Bucky asked him to leave, he absolutely would, but he’d probably be blowing up his phone until Bucky told him to fuck off in one way or another. He felt a gentle warmth when Bucky shook his head without hesitation.

“I’d really like it if you stuck around,” he confessed with a small smile and a light blush. “You can help me get all these guys watered and trimmed and stuff, and then maybe we can order some food?”

He sounded so shy and sweet that Steve could only smile and nod. “I’d be happy to, Buck.”

They easily worked in tandem, Bucky with a watering can and a little pair of sissors, and Steve with a mist pump, circling the rooms and each other, Bucky sharing little tidbits of information about various plants while instructing Steve how to keep from over or under watering. Steve was quickly falling in love with all the different colors and scents that he was discovering. And his chest felt near to bursting every time he walked past the little bonsai pot on the windowsill.

They end up Bucky’s bedroom, just as green as the rest of the apartment, but also sprinkled with a few more bits of Bucky’s personality—a galaxy print tapestry completely taking up the wall across from the bed, soft blue and green fairy lights strung up and wound through several hanging pots, stacks of books and DVDs littered across bookshelves and bedside tables, a rumpled king-sized bed almost overflowing with pillows, and a decently sized desk that was home to a laptop, a few textbooks, and many more little succulent pots.

Steve drank up all these little tidbits, filing them away, but not going digging or snooping, because that would be incredibly invasive. He merely shuffled through was little walking space there was, following Bucky’s instructions and pushing up on tip-toe to mist the plants perched above the windows and the desk.

-

Before long, every plant was tended to, pizza was ordered and delivered, and Steve and Bucky were soon sitting cross-legged in the middle of Bucky’s bed, three pizza boxes scattered around them and quiet instrumental music filtering through through a speaker hidden somewhere on the bookshelf. It was nice

“I used to be a Green Beret,” Bucky suddenly blurted, pizza sauce smeared on the corner of his mouth.

Steve paused in lifting his slice to him mouth, then easily set it aside, wiping his fingers on his napkin and giving Bucky his full attention.

That was apparently a bit much for the other man, as he quickly burrowed into his hoodie; pulling up the hood tugging the sleeves over his hands, and piling no less than three pillows in his lap to shove his face into.

“I enlisted pretty much right out of high school,” he started talking, muffled and quiet, but easily heard by enhanced ears. “Small town guy, no real career prospects, smooth-talking recruitment officer...you know the story.”

Steve kind of didn’t, since a lot of military service wasn’t exactly voluntary in his day, but he didn’t say so.

“Apparently I was really good at it,” Bucky continued, rolling his head to the side to be heard, and probably to breathe a little easier. He still didn’t look at Steve. “I mean, it was hard as shit, and combat zones are absolute hell, but it was only a few years before I qualified and graduated from basic army to Beret as Weapons Sargent James Barnes, sniper.”

Steve nodded, even though Bucky couldn’t see it. It was very impressive. Steve often trained and worked with the higher echelons of the military branches; Marines, SEALS, Para-rescue, Rangers, Delta Force...and Berets. And there were definitely individuals within each of those sects that, given even a fraction of Steve’s enhancements, they would be nigh unstoppable. He could easily see Bucky as one of them, now that he know to look.

“Me and my Team were deployed to a Middle-East squabble that could topple a few cities if ignored,” Bucky’s voice was starting to flatten, becoming a recitation. “We were told we’d also qualified for some new, fancy-schmancy tech from one of our grant partners. So me and the other Weapons Sargent were fitted with these...metal sleeves. They covered our left arms from shoulder to wrist, with a special glove to go over our hands. There was a lot of technical jargon, but the gist of it was it was for stabilization during firing, augmented strength for handling of larger caliber weapons without assistance, bulletproof, knife-proof, heat resistant...you know, the basic grab-bag for combat-zones.”

Steve nodded again, still unseen.

Bucky shuffled a little bit, releasing his hold on the pillows to bring his left arm to his sight-line, flexing his fingers in his sleeve, “Long story short, the op went south, _way_ south, and heat resistance means abso-fucking-lutely nothing when it’s pinned underneath a burning DPV for the better part of 36 hours. I mean, it kept my arm from getting crushed completely, and it _did_ slow down the damage to a certain point, but…,” Bucky rolled his head to pierce Steve with eyes that were flat with horrific memories, “I’m sure you can understand how difficult it is to be grateful when you can actually feel your arm being slow-roasted and unable to scream, because you have no idea if the people that would hear you are there to help or put a bullet in your head.”

Steve didn’t flinch or mouth platitudes. He merely nodded, fully aware of the unique agony that comes from being unable to trust anything around you while you suffer seemingly unending pain.

Bucky nodded in return, his arm flopping back on the bed. “I was extracted, along with the seven surviving members of my team. They were flown out to hospitals and stuff, but since I was quite literally attached to a piece of experimental American tech, I was taken to the lab where it was created. It was bright and clean, white and chrome. I was strapped to a table for fourteen hours while young geniuses and approved medical staff peeled my arm apart like a giant metal banana. My arm was numbed, but I wasn’t allowed to be knocked out for some fucking reason that no one felt like telling me. As soon as it was over, I was given a shit-load of paperwork to sign, debriefs to sit through, and a very regretful boot to the ass in the form of an honorable discharge.

“Eight months of physical therapy and then two years of therapy, and several job losses later, I got here,” he flung out his arms for a second, then let them drop, narrowly missing a pizza box. “Then aliens happened, and you started showing up at Jitterz at the most ungodly hours, looking so forlorn and sad, and then the D.C. thing happened, and you looked even _sadder_ \--and angrier--, to the point that Freddie had to adopt you, like she did with me, and you were there for the rest. So...yeah, probably not gonna be able to handle your place in the Tower. Sorry.”

Steve shrugged, picking up his abandoned slice of pizza, “No need to apologize, Buck,” he said easily. “I get it. Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.” He took a large bite of pizza, chewing slowly and giving Bucky a moment to collect himself. No matter how unaffected the other man tried to look, Steve knew that talking about trauma always left one feeling raw and vulnerable. His own therapy sessions attested to that. For a long while, there was only the sound of chewing, breathing, and gentle cello music. Then a hand, trembling but strong, curled around his knee.

“Imma go take a quick shower,” Bucky murmured, turning his head away again. “Don’t...don’t leave?”

Steve’s heart broke a little at the tone in Bucky’s voice, but he slid his own hand over the one on his leg, squeezing gently, “Of course not. I’ll just get these leftovers put away.”

Bucky scoffed, almost sounding normal, “There’s maybe gonna be two slices left after you eat your fill, and those’ll only be left out of politeness.”

Steve just smiled and shrugged again, unabashed. “Just trying to save your fridge space.”

“Whatever. How does no one know what a shit you are?” Bucky’s question was rhetorical, but Steve answered honestly as Bucky rolled out of the bed and grabbed a change of clothing.

“Captain America had become a lot of things in my absence,” he said plainly, “something beyond who and what it was when I put that plane down. Martyrs aren’t meant to come back, y’know. And Steve Rogers doesn’t really exist for most people, and changing that takes time and energy that I don’t always have. Probably best to keep them separate, anyways. Safer.”

Bucky looked like he didn’t really have a response for that, so he simply nodded and shuffled out of the room. Before long, the sounds of rattling pipes, thunks of the water heater, and the hiss of falling water filled the apartment.

-

Steve snarfed down four more slices of pizza in quick succession before bringing the boxes out to the kitchen and breaking them down to fit in the garbage can. He poked around quickly to find a plate, a cup, and plastic wrap. He placed the last three—take _that_ , Barnes—pieces on the plate and wrapped them before setting them in the fridge, then quickly downed three glasses of water.

His brain made quick work sorting and cataloging the information that he’d been given, and he once again marveled at how he was able to kind of step outside the process happening within his own mind. But his heart felt battered and bruised for one James Buchanan Barnes, and what he endured in the name of serving his country. Steve hated that the man had gone through any of it, and the scars that remained.

He saw with fresh eyes just how hard Bucky was trying to leave that part of his life behind; there was nothing of military precision in any part of his life, and from what he’d told Steve, that could only be intentional. From the rumpled bed and cheerful chaos of his home, to the length of his hair and the hours that he worked. Everything was the antithesis of what is expected— _demanded—_ of you when you serve in the army. And Steve felt nothing but respect and admiration for the person who built this life for himself after being hurt and failed so badly by his people.

-

Bucky emerged from his bathroom feeling very tired and more than a little annoyed at himself. Today had not gone in any kind of direction that he figured it possibly might have, and he really didn’t like the feeling of wrong-footed-ness that had dogged him since Steve came up to him that morning. Fuck, was it really only that morning? And now it was...barely even four in the afternoon, according to the microwave. Damn.

He kept scrubbing a towel through his hair as he stumbled back into his bedroom, seeing Steve leaning against his headboard with a random textbook in his lap. Looked like the one about astrophysical flow.

“Do you even know what you’re reading?” he asked absently as he tossed the towel in the hamper by the door and picked up his hair brush and giving his hair a few cursory strokes.

“I know one out of five words individually,” Steve said, not looking up, “but they combine into sentences that make absolutely no sense to me. Kinda fascinating, really. Are you going to school for this stuff?”

“Nah,” he flopped down next to the smaller man, making him bounce slightly. “Don’t really have the energy for college bullshit. I just think that space is interesting as fuck. And the internet helps me figure out the things I don’t really understand yet.”

“Wikipedia is amazing,” Steve agreed, setting the book aside and turning his body towards Bucky. “How’re you feeling?” The question was asked normally and without that tone of _'poor baby'_ , and Bucky could have kissed him for that. So he did.

“I’m good,” he assured as he pulled back, smiling at how Steve’s ridiculous eyelashes fluttered back open from where they’d slid shut. “Last person I told was Freddie, and that was a while ago. I usually try not to think about it, but the Tower...yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“But really, it’s all good. I’m just tired. Been a rough day on top of a rough few weeks.”

Steve eyelids flinched at that, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but Bucky just kissed him again.

“You don’t have to say sorry again,” he said firmly. “I get it. Yeah, it sucked, yeah, I missed you, and yeah, today was all kinds of weird, but,” he kissed Steve again, cupping his chin and stroking his cheek with his thumb, “we’re gonna be okay, okay? We got this. And, if you didn’t know before, you certainly know now, that I am fully capable of taking care of myself. Yeah?”

Steve nodded, a little dumbly, licking his lips and smiling. “Yeah.”

Bucky nodded as well, satisfied with Steve’s acquiescence. “Now,” he rolled onto his back and gave a full body stretch, smirking as Steve’s eyes zeroed in on the strip of flesh at his waist where his hoodie had ridden up, “I would very much like a nap, and I would very much like for you to join me, but you absolutely do not have to.”

Steve felt his smile stretch even wider as he watched Bucky burrow himself in his blankets and look up at him, his wet hair already starting to tangle around his face. Steve very, very much wanted to see it fully dry and chaotic as Bucky woke up. He wasn’t at all tired, but he easily slipped underneath the blankets as well, shimmying out his pants only once he was fully covered and dropping them over the side of the bed. The blush on Bucky’s cheeks told him that he was very aware of what Steve was doing, but he said nothing as he watched the blond snuggle down with him, nearly swallowed by the pillows and fluffy blankets.

For a long time, they just stared at each other, letting the warmth of the afternoon sunlight and the blankets seep into their skin. But Bucky’s blinks started getting longer and longer, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from reaching over and pushing a strand of hair away from Bucky’s beautiful, sleepy face.

“Get some sleep, Bucky,” he whispered, tracing gentle fingertips over rapidly relaxing lips and eyebrows. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bucky mumbled something, snuggled down even more into the pillows, and fell asleep between one breath and the next.

Steve slowly drew his hand back, settled into the warmth both around and within him, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the actual chapter, y'all! Sorry for the comments on my life update that got deleted with the chapter, but I wanted to make sure that the notification for the new chapter got out. So...yeah! We know some of Bucky's shit! Not all of it, of course, but some! Fingers crossed that I can stay on track, since I'm also writing a piece for Stucky BB, and I my laptop won't crap out again. Thank you all for your understanding and patience and kudos and comments. They make it all worth it.


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